Green and Golden
by Elentari2
Summary: With the Watchful Peace, the WoodElves have the opportunity to see the world beyond their borders. A chance meeting takes unexpected consequences, and Erestor finds himself with a hellion pupil. But peace is short,and the struggle resumes. Revised Sept.05
1. Peace as a glass

_**A.N.:** Many thanks to Marcia who betaed this chapter. Also, my gratitude to Jenny, the wood-elf, who was the original Erestor and played it so well that made me fall in love with the councilor. Two years and that many RPGs later, she agreed to let me tell the tale so the flustered loremaster and the impulsive woodland maiden can finally reach the end of their quest._

**Chapter 1: Peace as a glass**

_'So they laughed and sang under the trees, and pretty fair nonsense I daresay you think it. Not that they would care; they would only laugh all the more if you told them so.'_

_The Hobbit, J. R. R. Tolkien._

**Imladris, 2275 T.A.**

The sun was beginning to sink into the West, its last light catching the tops of the mountains in the distance, making the snow gleam a brilliant red. Erestor looked out over Rivendell, the light golden on the rooftops and balconies of his home. He smiled. Let it be long before the shadow of evil fell on the blessed valley of Imladris. Barely a century ago Mithrandir had ridden deep into the darkened woods of Dol Guldur to confront its Master, whose power had been growing of late. Elrond himself had sought Erestor's counsel late at night; worried the Necromancer might be Sauron manifesting himself once more. But the Necromancer had fled, and Mirkwood enjoyed the first period of peace in over a millennia.

With slow steps he climbed the winding stair, to the highest tower that afforded a view of the whole area. A large bronze bell hung in the tower, and a hammer for striking it. For many years, it had been his duty to officially call all to eat together, to speak of the day's labors and tomorrow's plans.

Lifting the heavy hammer, he struck the bell twice, its clear, ringing voice sounding out across the valley.

Soon enough the sound of silk hustling filled the halls as the inhabitants of Rivendell approached the dining hall. Lindir passed him by humming quietly what seemed like a new composition, whilst Glorfindel walked arm in arm with a member of the envoy from Mirkwood. For a moment Erestor felt his curiosity picked, and hoped the warrior had finally found a maiden whose affections he would deem to seek out. But no such luck. They were deep in conversation on the techniques for hand in hand combat, Glorfindel ensuring the lady that there were techniques used so the females could be quite as fearsome as males when need be dire. There was little or no difference in the strength of ellith and ellon; opposed to Mortals, whose fairer sex was usually physically weaker.

Erestor shook his head, chuckling.

The Chief Councilor watched both ways before going into the West Wing. Cook had been frantic with the preparations of the lady Arwen's begetting day's festivities, which would not be for a week yet. Though one would think it the next morn by the state of organized chaos of the valley. Servants ran up and down all day comparing yards of fabric and different arrangements for the garlands. It was quite the task to cross the path to the dining hall without being accosted to try a pastry or some new spice combination.

He took his place by the end of the high table and waited for the Lord and Lady of Imladris to arrive, and also Arwen. For though he did his best to minimize their plight it was their family who suffered the good-natured pestering of the servants the most. The envoys were all seated, and the servers waited discreetly by the corner to begin the meal.

Elrond entered the hall with his wife Celebrian on his right arm and his daughter Arwen on his left, a couple of artisans trailing behind him to the very table. After assisting the ladies to their seats the peredhel invited them all to dine.

"'Tis an ambiguous blessing to have such dedicated assistants," he jested, causing laughter in the room. Erestor sat up straight and pretended outrage. "For I feared we would unwittingly cause you to starve. Please, let us wait no longer!"

"I do not think he was speaking of you, my friend," Glorfindel commented. "We all know this dinner would not take place at all if you did not divert the servants from the lord and unto yourself."

Erestor swirled the wine in his goblet, contemplating the contents. He raised an eyebrow in his friend's direction. "I will take that in consideration… and only give him his due after the party."

"He may be thankful for that also," Glorfindel conceded, solemn.

"Are we talking about a joust?" the lady on his side inquired. "I do not think I would be ready to contest with such renowned warriors, alas! Though it would be… educational, shall we say? To watch the elf-lords of Imladris fighting each other."

"We do not fight each other, my lady," Erestor protested. "We sharpen each other's skills."

She laughed, golden curls dancing around her shoulders. The green elves were much freer in the expressing of their emotions than the other elves of Erestor's acquaintance, but he found it a refreshing thing. "I stand corrected, my lord."

"Call me Erestor, if you will. I am not quite as formal as some elves I could name," he teased, throwing his friend a wicked glance.

"That would be me," Glorfindel said, "he tells me often I am insufferably stiff."

The lady opened her mouth to retort and stopped herself, drinking a hasty sip of the liquor. "In that case, you must call me Eámanë, for I will not be called lady when the Head Councilor is forgoing formalities."

"Oh goodness!" Glorfindel placed his hands on front of his face in mock desperation. "They join forces against me!"

"I need no reinforcement against you, my friend."

"Should I run for shelter?" Eámanë asked, weighing down the two elves on her sides. "I have not yet learned enough to protect myself against both should you decide to settle your differences in a fi--, I mean a contest."

"You should be fine, my dear, if only you remember to place a kick in your attacker's—"

"I think she understands what you speak of, Glorfindel," Erestor groaned. "There is no need to depict it in detail."

"—Shin. Though that was actually a good idea too, Erestor."

The councilor shook his head again, and turned his attention to a very flushed-looking lady. "Please, do not worry," he said. "When so many different folks are mingled together in one place, tensions and disputes are bound to arise. However, Lord Glorfindel is at times too free with his games… I pray you are not offended. That is simply the effect of too many orquish blows to his head. He truly means nothing by it." Erestor paused to help himself to dessert, a chilled pudding made from spiced milk, sprinkled with petals. The elves of Rivendell had outdone themselves again.

"Although," he added, "sometimes I think kicking his… shin… would be a fitting reward to his actions. Now, would you care for dessert? Or has tonight already shown enough surprises?"

Eámanë glanced at the balrog-slayer's eyes, silently asking forgiveness for teasing him so mercilessly. Glorfindel merely shrugged and returned a winning grin.

"Do not get offended, milord, if I say I paid more attention to the conversation than to the meal before me, and now I find myself with a hearty appetite. I think I will try some sweets and cakes."

"_Erestor_."

"Do not get offended… Erestor."

"An excellent idea," Glorfindel said. "The conversation is often rather... diverting, here." He reached for a platter from the center of the table, containing gingerbread, honey-glazed sweets and white candies, each with a flower pressed into the center.

"I understand you are one of the Mirkwood party," Erestor said, while she was choosing from the platter. "Perhaps you have not heard, but there is a little practice arranged at the archery ranges tomorrow. Our swordsmen also seem to have attached themselves to the idea of comparing notes with our brothers from beyond the borders," he said. "Would you like to join us, and show your skill with a bow? I have heard the folk of Mirkwood shoot differently from we of Rivendell, and I would very much like to see it done."

"Oh, yes, we were discussing self-defense lessons before… well, before you and your friend decided to sharpen each other's skills." She took a bit of a breath. Lord Erestor seemed to be more at ease than angry -and come to think of it; he had showed nothing but amusement. "I cannot tell if we have different techniques than the people of Imladris. Maybe you could show me how it's done here tomorrow?"

"I am no archer," he said, "I am afraid I never quite picked up the skill. Although I fancy I could still show you a thing or two with my sword..."

His face became clouded with memory, if only for a second. He had fought side-by-side with the archers of Mirkwood at the Last Alliance. So frail they had looked, so thin their armor, although their shots were deadly. They had laughed, and the songs in their woodland tongue had lightened many a heart at the beginning of the war.

He remembered when their King Oropher was slain, made stubborn by pride, refusing to take orders from Gil-Galad. He remembered the joy after the battle, when the war was over and the sun shone clear again. But clearest of all, the shadow that fell on the High-King's face when he learned that almost two thirds of Oropher's folk had fallen, encircled in the Dead Marshes, never to return to their woods.But Sauron had not yet been defeated, and the Last Alliance laid siege to barad-dur for seven long years before isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand, and in that battle Elendil and Gil-galad both fell.

He found himself able to smile fully at Eámanë. "I will look forward to the demonstration," he said.

"Oh!" she said, clapping in delight. It would be a wonderful day indeed! Most of the warriors in the Last Homely House would be showing their skills and fraternizing. Eámanë could look forward for some of the entertainment. "That's settled then!" she cried, and finished her attack on the honeyed cake and exotic fruits.

"I will take that as a challenge," Erestor said, a glint in his eye. Noticing Eámanë had finished; he placed his plate ready for collection. "Since we have both eaten our fill," he said, "what say you of a stroll outside? Not, of course," he added, "to keep you from rest. I would not spar with a sleepy opponent"

"I must warn you, my friend, that I have given her a few pointers," Glorfindel stated. "She might give you some trouble."

"With you as her teacher?" Erestor returned, deadpan.

"I will hardly be a challenge for you, my lord. Even in Mirkwood we hear the tales of the War of the Ring and the Last Alliance." she tried not to hit herself after saying those words. The episode was a bitter memory for all the people involved. "Anyway, if anything else, we must keep our name - I will be your match for some turns."

"Have a care, Eámanë," Glorfindel cried as Erestor led the maiden to the moonlight lit path to the Halls of Fire. "He may wish to tell you my lessons are not worth listening to, but it is in his own interest!"

**

* * *

A.N.: I'll drop quick definitions whenever I use references to facts, people and details of Middle-earth history that someone who did not read the book might not know, and clarify mentions to Ancient History that are not shown in LoTR or shown only in the appendices.**

If you already know it, feel free to skip this section.

**1- Dol Guldur: **originally called _Amon Lanc_, it was a hill on the southern area of the Greenwood Forest, Rhovannion, where Sauron built his fortress, which received the same name. At that time Sauron was disguised under the name Necromancer, and the Wise thought he was in fact one of the nazgûl. Gandalf finds out that he's in fact Sauron at 2850 T.A. See Chapter Four's A.N., _Amon Lanc._

**2- Last Alliance of men and Elves** and the **War of the Ring:** This chapter mentions the Last Alliance of Elves and Men and The War of the Ring. Not to be mistaken with the War of the Ring at the end of the Third Age, this is how the people of Middle earth would call the war that ended with Isildur cutting the Ring from Sauron's hand at the end of the Second age. After Frodo destroyed the One Ring it would be known as The First War of the Ring (meaning, obviously, there had been a second one).

On the subject…

**_A-_**There were not only Men and Elves in the Alliance. According to EoA: "The entire alliance that marched on Mordor seems to have consisted of more the merely Elves and Men. There is a record of at least some of the Dwarves of Durin's Folk fighting with the Alliance, and indeed _Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age_, in its description of the Alliance and its enemies at the Battle of Dagorlad, tells us: 'All living things were divided that day, and some of every kind, even beasts and birds, were found in either host, save the Elves only.' (Taken literally, this would seem to mean that Gil-galad and Elendil even had Orcs at their command, though that is unlikely to be Tolkien's intention!) Despite this, it is clear that the Alliance was primarily one between the races of Elves and of Men."B- The Last Alliance did not just drop there at Mordor and win. The First War of the Ring lasted eleven years, from the taking of Minas Ithil in Gondor to the battle of Dagorlad at the entrance of Mordor (That's where Thranduil's father died with two-thirds of his woodland army), to a siege of Barad-dur that lasted a whole seven years to the final battle where isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hands. 

**_3-_** **Greenwood the Great** was called _Mirkwood_ after the a shadow fell in it at about 1050. At approximately **1100** the Wise discover such shadow was based in Dol Guldur, and they believed it to be one of the Nazgul. In **2060 **its power has grown so much the Wise fear that the lord of Dol Guldur, called the Necromancer, was Sauron himself taking shape again. Three years later Gandalf rides to Dol Guldur but Sauron, strengthened and with his plans done, retreats to the East. That was the beginning of the period called _The Watchful Peace_, a period of peace after millennia of struggling against the Shadow in the woodland realm.

In this story, the Green Elves seized that truce to explore the world beyond the borders of the Rhovannion. Though Celeborn complains it has been a long time since he has seen any of his kin (i.e., Legolas specifically, implying familial ties but maybe also speaking of the Sindar clan the elves of Lothlorien were mostly of the Sylvan kind. Also, maybe he meant that in a widely general way, meaning the close ties between the Galadhrin and the Woodland Elves who were once long ago of the same clan. Notice Haldir called Legolas a kin of the north as well), I have taken the liberty of placing the estrangement of the clans after the end of the Watchful Peace and inviting elves from all elven dwellings for Arwen's begetting day festivities.

**_4-_ Glorfindel and the question of hair color among Elves: **The EoA entry for Glorfindel of Rivendell lists him as a Noldo. The entry for Glorfindel of Gondolin lists him as Noldo too, but 'possibly with Vanyarin blood'.

"The Noldor were normally dark-haired, but the golden hair of the Vanyar was introduced through Indis, a Vanyarin Elf-maiden; hence the descendants of her sons Fingolfin and Finarfin sometimes had golden hair, suggesting that Glorfindel may have come from this noble line."

As far as I know, most of the Elves had dark hair, except for the Vanyar, the children of Fingolfin, the children of Finarfin, the people of Nerdanel and her sons (shades of auburn or red), and Elu Thingol's kin (He himself started his life as a brunette, but after his encounter with Melian his hair had turned to Silver; Celeborn had also silver hair, and Thranduil was a blond. Oddly, though, Lúthien daughter of Thingol was also a brunette). 

Fair hair was usually a hint of the grace of the Valar bestowed upon a person (and their descendants), as Height was a hint of nobility to Tolkien's characters. 

Because of that I was under the impression Glorfie was a Vanya. _That mistake has been fixed throughout_. 

_**5-**_ _**Ellith **_and _**Ellyn**_ mean _Elf-woman_ and _Elf-man_ (Sindarin). The Elven Tongues had a word for 'male' and 'female' beings, regardless of sex, and a word for men and women of Elfkind and mankind. Probably dwarves, as well, and all other species, but that's unknown. Singular forms are _**Elleth **_and _**Ellon**_. 


	2. friendly fencing

_A.N.: Many thanks for Marcia for betaing this chapter._

**Chapter 2: Friendly fencing**

_'How now, wit! Wither wander you?'As you like it, Shakespeare. _

_'Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first time that I have ever heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.' Idem._

It had been a hundred years since Erestor last had the nightmare, yet here it was, again, rising up like some unquiet spirit. The flames... Ost-in-Edhil was burning, the sickening stench of smoke carried on the wind to their camp. When the defenses fell, and fall they must, for Sauron bore the Ruling Ring on his hand... The orcs poured over the great walls like a malevolent tide, black and red, with emblems of evil gelded into their Armour. And then, their banner. It had seemed white at first, until he realized with horror that it was no banner but the body of an elf... he even recognized the hapless one as Celebrimbor, chief of the Mírdain.

He woke up in a cold sweat, the rich tapestries and familiar things of his room giving him little comfort. The sheets were tangled around his legs, and one of the pillows had escaped the bed entirely. He shakily got upand proceeded to straighten out the bed.

Having dressed in a dark green tunic and leggings, he poured a bowl of water and splashed his hands and face. Then, he looked into the mirror.

Beneath the shiny film of water, the same ageless face of millennia stared back at him. Some said he had a noble look to him, a lucky inheritance from his Noldorin mother, and the canny wisdom of his Sindarin father. At the moment, he looked more shell-shocked and tired, with his black hair in disarray from the uneasy night. And, to his shame, frightened by a bad dream, like a tiny elfling. He rubbed his eyes.

He pressed his face to a towel to dry it, combed his hair, and wove it into a loose plait.

_Too long you have spent deep in books of lore, Erestor, _he thought_. It was the field practice this morning._

Bearing his ancient sword, Erestor left his house and made his way to the practice fields. South of the wooded vales around the Ford of Bruinen, there was a wide-open, grassy area, where animals sometimes grazed. By the command of Elrond, the space had been cleared and targets set up, with Elves on hand to move them forwards or backwards as desired. Erestor was sure the peredhel had arranged the practice not only to entertain his guests but also to get the servants out of his hair. There was also a table draped in white, and there were placed jugs of water for the combatants. There was also a table draped in white upon which were placed jugs of water for the combatants. A few Elves were already out on the grass, warming up before the games. Their bright swords flashed in the morning sun, and their fluid movements belied the purpose of the blades and their sharp edges.

It was always a surprise how beautiful weapons could be.

He sent one of the heralds out with a swift word, and presently a bell was heard ringing throughout Imladris. "The games begin!" the young Elf called out in a clear voice.

Erestor waited by the refreshment table for Eámanë, who had accepted his offer to spar the previous night, and watched as Glorfindel methodically proceeded to take his own opponent down. Lindir had many fine talents, and though he had some skill with a blade, the minstrel was quite simply no match for the Balrog slayer. Erestor smiled in good spirits as Lindir barely deflected a vicious blow. The day was bound to be instructive, and not only for the contestants.

She arrived at the field slightly out of breath and with a joyous glint in her stormy eyes. She spotted Erestor and went to his side.

She poured some water into a glass and drank it before turning to him.

"I am sorry I'm late, Lord Erestor. It took me more time than I realized to find the practice field. Shall we begin?"

With that she unsheathed her sword and looked at Erestor expectantly, a little girl who'd been given a new doll. Lord Erestor was, while a scholar at heart, a warrior who had fought at the Last Alliance of Men and Elves in the War of the Ring. She was honored to spar with him.

Erestor made no answer, but drew his sword in an elaborate swish.

"If you believe you can defeat me," he said, moving away from the refreshment table to the practice ground. There he waited, sizing up his opponent as she took her place opposite him. Eámanë was slender as a birch-tree, but he suspected she would be faster than him on the ground. This certainly would be an interesting match.

There were two female elves joining in the sparring this morning. While unusual for a woman of Rivendell to engage in combat, Mirkwood had been under the shadow of war for much longer. There, the maidens had taken up arms to defend their homes, and he found himself looking forward to seeing how she fought.

He raised his sword into a defensive posture and kept his eyes fixed on Eámanë's face, anticipating her first move.

"I'm only here for the fun, Master Erestor," she said with a huge grin and lowering her voice added, with a hint of mirth, "Pride is such an awful thing..."

Erestor took her measure. Eámanë circled with him oblivious to anything outside their perimeter. There were no audience, no sound, no life outside their imaginary perimeter. She was conscious that the first move would be hers and mentally went through the attacks she could try on him. Deciding to avoid body contact as much as possible, she sprang forth, her sword aimed at the upper half of his body. She did not hold back, knowing her thrust was a feint. At the final moment, she crouched down, kicking her legs in an unexpected movement designed to throw Erestor off balance while her sword made upwards contact with his. This was a new move her brother had perfected and Eámanë had worked hard to mastered the technique.

With lightning speed, she jumped backwards and stood up again. It was wise to remain on the ground when an Elf-lord was coming after you with a sword...

He had been expecting a traditional swipe, easily blocked, and Eámanë's sudden maneuver had caught him by surprise. He absorbed the impact of her blade with his, but his arm was knocked backwards by the force of the attack, leaving his chest undefended.

Quickly, he brought his blade down. He brought his blade down, meaning to swing at her while she was on the ground and disarm her before she could counter. But Eámanë, nimble and quick, sprang to her feet.

Not one to be defeated so easily, Erestor leaped forward, striking her sword with the back of his, close to the guard, moving her backwards without putting a dent in the sharp side of his blade. Using the full strength of his sword-arm, he pushed sharply forwards, a laugh rising in his throat at the pleasure of sparring with a good opponent on such a lovely morning.

She had managed to throw him off balance, but he had recovered quickly. She expected no less. Thinking fast, Eámanë turned around, loosening his grip on her and disengaging their swords in an attempt to catch his left side unguarded. Not much hope, but worth a try. Her blade made a neat arc in the air and she was not surprised when metal met metal as Erestor's powerful counter stroke made contact.

Valar, he was strong.

Eámanë did a series of quick offensive moves, retreating before he could developed his counter attack into something that could defeat her before she had her fun. Block, attack, spring forth, retreat, all a quick and graceful dance designed to keep him at a reasonable distance from her. In matters of brute strength, she was no match for him, but it mattered little to Elveswho were used to battlingbeings of superior brute force but much less dexterity.

Beginning to feel the familiar rhythm of swordplay, Erestor speeded up his movements. It was almost like a dance, with the beauty of the flashing blade, the deft, perfectly timed footwork. He fought harder, seeking to test both his and his opponent's strength, but her swift strokes prevented him from getting throughher defense. Frustrating, yet fun. Ina real battle elegance would be lost in the bitter struggle for life, but that did not seem important right now.

"Having a good time, my lord?" she asked with a light laugh. Itwas such a fine day!

He grimaced as his wrist was thrown back, but kept hold of his sword. Plunging the tip of the blade firmly into the ground in order to keep his balance, he decided never to underestimate the MirkwoodElves again. He was quite impressed.

"I certainly am," he said. "It has been years, countless years since I have sparred. I am glad I have not completely lost my touch."

"So am I!" she replied laughing harder. "'This is a fine match indeed, milord."

"I fear I must claim foul though," he grunted, renewing the offensive. "I was lead to believe Glorfindel was teaching you the ways of combat. I find you a skilled fighter already."

"My brother is in the Royal Guard," she answered simply. "We used to practice together. Though I am not quite as good as he is, Maglin made sure to teach me enough tricks to defend myself should need arise."

And then, with an impish smile rather unbefitting in an Elf-lord, he said: "The Mirkwood Elves have their ways with the sword. But they fight out of their league. We of Imladris have a few tricks to try, too."

"Out of their league? This is preposterous! It is but a --"

With that, he swung his sword into a sudden over-the-head attack. She would have to dodge, or block...

Eámanë thought that she had succeeded in making him angry, as his attack had been quite aggressive. She would never have seen that coming from the sweet tempered Elflord of the previous night. Eámanë jumped backwards and met his blade as it descended barely missing her shoulder.

She twisted the sword again, trying to put some more space between them. He was getting too close for comfort. The sound of metal clashingfilledthe clear morning air. She regained her breath with swift retreat.

" I'm delighted to see you have a few tricks up your sleeve, Master Erestor," she said. "But not for a moment think you're the only one."

And with that she sprang forth, in a tip-of-spear offensive move that changed to swing in the last possible moment. While Erestor concentrated on countering her swung, she kicked his shin, hard.

Which was actually quite painful.

Erestor let out a yelp and clutched his shin, almost dropping his sword. He looked up.

Eámanë stood there, smiling almost sweetly at him. Who knew that beneath that fair golden-haired exterior there lurked a common cheater?

"What manner of Orc-trickery..." he growled. Now, this was serious. A matter of honor. One did not kick Erestor in the shin and get away with it. Letting out a great cry, he leapt towards Eámanë, with the sole intention of a serious tussle. After all, it was no less than she deserved.

"Orc trickery!" Eámanë cried, outraged. Now it was for honor. Great Elflord he might be, but no one would call her an orc and walk away! And he even acted as if she had been the one offending him!

And it was not as if in battle, warriors fought with weaponsalone, was it?

The spar developed into full fighting. Erestor was making full use of his superior strength and experience, but Eámanë was not one to let herself beeasily defeated. The elf-maiden changed her techniques from dodging to offensive. It wasn't too hard to try and use Erestor's own strength against him, she would only haveto manipulate him into a certain position... Her breath coming in quick gasps, her heart racing, Eámanë countered and pulled him backwards with an intricate set of swings and blocks.

"Let me show you how we fight in Mirkwood." she defied, all mirth forgotten.There was a certain conduct associated with sparring. You could put strength into your blows, true, and you could knock your opponent down, but there were limits. Limits that seemed to fade into insignificance as their dance became more furious. He vaguely wondered if he should stop, withdraw, before Elrond himself had to drag them apart.

Anger, yes, he had let his anger interfere with the game. But was it a game? In a real fight, would orcs care about rules and tradition? No. Eámanë fought fiercely, but perhaps he should not resent her for doing so.

And suddenly, seizing an opening when she put too much strength in a hefty blow designed to squash his defense, he swung her around, his own force of motion deflecting the angle of her sword. Losing her balance, she tumbled onto the grass, the hilt slipping out of her hand.

Eámanë was thoroughly lost. She hadwanted to give him the beating of his life. He had called her an Orc, for Elbereth's sake! Never had she thought that he would throw her on the ground onto her behind. She wanted to scream, she wanted to laugh. With a deep, steadying breath, she fought to regain her composure.

"I think that you both need to compose yourselves. That was quite the match." Elrond stepped out from the shade of a beech tree. To his utter embarrassment Erestor noticed most of the contestants had stopped to watch their match. "I would not advise pushing yourselves further without at least a small break first."

"That might be wise," said the councilor, still breathless from the fight. He sheathed his sword and he could have sworn he caught a glimmer on the side, an approval of engaging in battle again after so long.

"Indeed," Eámanë answered, wondering what on Arda the lord of Imladris had in his mind. He seemed to think the incident extremely funny, though that might be diplomacy speaking.

Erestor decided to get a drink, and collect his thoughts before launching into another offensive. But first, there was a matter to attend

"Lady Eámanë," he said, offering his hand, "thank you for an excellent fight. I have never sparred... in such a way before."

The maiden stared at him for a moment before reaching the hand he offered and stood up to her full six feet height - thought he was a couple inches taller than her, damn it! She released him the moment she was up, picking her own blade and sheathing it.

"'It was my pleasure," Eámanë answered stiffly. Good manners obligated her to be courteous even thought she was still mad at him. Unfortunately, she was in his home, not the other way around.

"Would you give me the pleasure of the next match?" asked a fair elf among the group of onlookers. He stepped forth and put his hand over his heart. "As soon as the lady has rested from this last exertion, of course."

"The lady won't rest for long," she replied, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. "But she should like a name to go with the challenge."

"Orophin, my lady, at your service." The elf bowed, then took her hand and led her away from the table to another spot that had been recently cleared.

Erestor was still standing before Elrond, wondering what he should sayor indeed, if he should say anything at all. Before the peredhel could chide him, however, a strong grip claimed his arm and led him back into the main building. The councilor kept pace so as not to look like he was being dragged. Only when they were far from the reach of curious eyes he met the furious eyes of the Lord Glorfindel.

"I take it you are mad at me," he stated calmly. "And you are right to be so."

Glorfindel took a step back, slightly pacified. "Oh no, you will not stand all subdued and repentant when I have finally seized a great excuse to dress you down. That is simply not fair!"

"I am merely stating the obvious. I apologize if you are distressed by it."

"What distresses me is the fact that the Chief Councilor of Imladris has behaved himself in an unacceptable manner toward a guest of this house. And in public!"

"Should I have done it in private?'

"You should not have done it at all!" the fair elf cried, frustrated by his friend's lack of response. "What were you thinking?"

"I do not know what I was thinking… I was angry." He sighed. "She cheated, and I grew angry. 'Twas a silly thing really, and before I knew it had grown beyond proportion."

"She did what I told her to do, you simpleton!"

Erestor crossed his hands before his chest. "Are you quite done with cursing me?"

Glorfindel glowered. Erestor sighed again. Suddenly the councilor recalled the Balrog slayer's laughing advice the night before. "I shall give her my apologies at the earliest chance."

"See that you do," Glorfindel muttered, and turned to vanish into the house.

"You are not angry only because I was too rough," Erestor said quietly, though it stopped his friend. "Mostly you are distressed because this incident made you remember things you rather forget."

Glorfindel did not turn; he merely resumed his walking.

**

* * *

A.N.: Again, the _War of the Ring_ mentioned here is the _First War of the Ring_, at the end of the Second Age. **Again, the mentioned here is the , at the end of the Second Age. 

**1- Ost-in-edhil:** was the main city of the realm of Eregion. Tolkien says the Noldor (probably led by Celebrimbor) founded it in 750 S.A. Some say Galadriel and Celeborn helped, but they were ruling a realm south of Lûn at the time, and Celeborn is a Sinda with no Noldor blood. So I don't really buy C and G building Eregion. Sauron destroyed it at 1697 S.A.

Sauron had dwelt with the elves of Eregion since 1200 S.A., in a glorious physical form and under the name Annatar, teaching them many things. Including the technique for the making of the rings of power. Odd that Celebrimbor, being grandson to Fëanor, allied with one of Melkor's captains, but there you go. Celebrimbor only realized the treachery at 1600 when he listens Annatar chanting the One Ring incantation, 'one ring to rule them all'… then he calls the Elves to the War of the Elves Against Sauron, from 1693 to 1697. Celebrimbor died at the fall of Eregion.

Also, Elrond was sent to Eregion by Gil-galad at 1695, so it is very likely Elrond Half-elven and Erestor met there. With the defeat, Elrond took the refugees to a valley deeply cut in the Misty Mountains and built the refuge of Imladris.

Eregion was much wider than the T.A. maps show, and much of the Shire lands were once part of it. On the way to Caradhras, Legolas comments that Elves once lived there, for their effect could still be felt on the lands, and that the Elves that lived in those lands were strangers to the Woodland Elves.

_Unless I've completely lost it, which is actually pretty likely._

**2- Elf-women and military service:** Tolkien said, In_Laws and Customs of the Eldar_, thatthere was little difference between Ellith and Ellyn until childbearing. Galadriel was a famous athlete in her youth. There was no impediment to women training martial arts in the enlightened elven society, however the women would not go to the combat front until the situation was hopeless – there are records of women fighting in the fall of Gondolin, and methinks they probably took up arms in Alqualondë too. Women are always the last line of defense. Why, if they fight as well as men?

Women are ordinarily the healers of Elven society, and the contact with death and violence would darken their spirits and stain their energies, so to speak. And if that's so in healing, imagine what'd happen with childbearing, where the mother's fëa and energy passes to the child? (Thus the difference in physical strength after childbearing. The father passed f:ea and energy to, but _in my opinion_ it was to a lesser degree).

And why does Elrond heal and go to the battlefield?

Elrond is Elrond, that's why! Also, he's descendent of Melian the Maia. He's quite simply one of the most powerful beings of Middle-earth.

Plus, if women are not in the front, someone has to give the wounded first aid until they can be sent to where the women are at!


	3. Of Elven Diplomacy

_Again, many thanks to marcia for betaing this chapter._

**Chapter 3: Of Elven Diplomacy** __

'Hereafter, in a better world than this,  
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.'  
As You Like It, Shakespeare.

The unease had been growing inside him all day. It reminded him of the moments just before a thunderstorm, when the air was heavy and still, pregnant with menace. He had returned to his rooms swiftly after the swords practice and indulged himself in his beloved books for several hours, forgetting for a time the storm that might be about to break.

It was only when the bell rang out for dinner that he returned to the world. Realizing that he had not only forgotten his duty as herald, but was also going to be late for the feast, he hurried to stow away the chronicles of Eregion that he had been reading and began searching for suitable clothing. With no time to change his tunic, he wrapped himself in a robe of rich blue, the sleeves embroidered with curling leaf patterns in gold thread. As he shook his hair free from its braid, he found a small leaf stuck there from his spar with Eámanë.

Eámanë.

He did not know what she thought of him now. They had had a fight like none he had ever known. Such intensity, such joy... it had almost been a violent dance. He smiled, rubbing the bruise on his shin where she had kicked him. No Elf of Rivendell would have fought like that.

But she had seemed pretty keen to be away from him afterwards. His smile faded. Perhaps he had gone too far and offended her. He had strayed beyond gentlemanly conduct, and she had been forced to lash out. He realized, a cold feeling running through his bones, that perhaps he had put himself at odds with the entire Sylvan contingent staying in Rivendell.

Stupid, stupid Erestor.

Sighing, he placed one hand to his head, as the many feet on the stairs and voices heralded the start of dinner. He was going to have to go and face her sooner or later. Perhaps, if he apologized, she would forgive him. Or perhaps not.

Sighing, he left his chambers and went to the dining hall where he discovered, to his dismay, that the meal had already begun. Over a thousand years in Imladris, and this was the first time he'd ever been late for a meal. What impression was he giving to the guests?

Worse, several mouth-watering plates were being uncovered, rich smells filling the air; he began to realize how hungry he was from the day's exertions.

He took the seat between Eámanë and Mithrandir and politely sipped his wine, waiting for Elrond to arrive.

He noticed that no one had started eating yet, and all the delicious food was going cold. He gave a half-smile, picturing Elrond, engrossed in some book or his studies, keeping his guests waiting all night, all too polite to do more than sip wine. Either that or the lord of Rivendell had stolen a precious moment away with his family before the big festivities and had lost track of time. Either way, someone would need to give the guests leave to start dining soon, and unless Glorfindel decided to step in, that someone would be him.

He used the opportunity of scanning for new faces. There were some; they must have arrived during the day. It warmed his heart, the feeling that in the tide of coming war, Rivendell was not a lone island.

The reason for the delay became apparent when the Lord Elrond appeared at the door. His sons had arrived from the wilds and they must have spent some time sharing the report and news from the outside world. Celebrian gently guided he husband to the table. The twin brothers escorted Arwen. If last night Elrond had too many ladies, this evening the ladies had one gentleman too many. Not that they minded. The hall filled with even more laughter as Elrond contemplated the possibility of having one more daughter. To balance it out, he said, making Arwen chuckle.

Retrieving his daughter from Elrohir and Elladan, Elrond placed a gentle kiss on her brow and directed her to the front of the hall, so all could have a good view of the Evenstar. "Gentles all," he said, his voice loud and clear. "Friends of old. My heart is doubly glad in having you here with us today as we celebrate and give thanks for a great blessing received. My daughter's begetting day is much more than just an excuse to reunite such fine company around us."

"You should be called Silver Tongue, ada," Arwen spoke quietly. Squeezing his hand she turned to her brothers and then to the guests again. "Welcome and thank you for sharing this joy with us. And now, we must make good use of all this food Tulquar has made us."

"Your daughter is much wiser than you are, Master Elrond," Glorfindel cried.

"She understands you better, indeed," Elrond replied. "Let us eat!"

Erestor turned to his left side to face the sylvan lady. The fair-haired elf looked rather rattled, quite possibly with him.

_Give me an obscure manuscript in any language of the world, _he thought,_ for it would be easier to decipher than people._

"My lady," he said, and then changed his mind, deciding not to dwell on formality. "Eámanë. I... wanted to apologies for insulting you earlier. It was unbefitting, and I should not have allowed myself to get angry." He paused. "I hope I can convince you to accept my humblest apologies."

Interesting, no doubt, Eámanë thought, feeling most of her anger drifting away ... though not all of it. So the High and Mighty Elf Lord could admit a wrong, even thought it should have never occurred in the first place. Eámanë did not know the custom of Rivendell, but in Mirkwood no Elf with an ounce of self-respect would admit being called an orc!

"Let us put an end to the matter. It never happened," Eámanë said with the quietest voice she could muster. It was not her place to put her people at odds with one of the most influential Elf Lords of Imladris. Mirkwood was isolated enough as it was... So Eámanë decided to swallow her pride and make an effort at diplomacy.

Erestor fought not to narrow his eyes when Mithrandir glanced in their direction. The old rascal was known for meddling in every kind of affair.

More to provide them with some privacy than out of any desire to be too close to the hellion, Erestor bent his head in her direction. "I fear your champion, my lady. Glorfindel has made it clear that my life is in peril should I not win back your good graces, and the Grey Pilgrim has already looked our way three times."

Eámanë felt the corners of her mouth lifting upwards and fought it. "Afraid of my champion? Are you not afraid of me, as well?"

"Well, of course," he replied, completely serious. "Do I look stupid?"

At that the wood-elf lost the battle and burst out laughing. "Kind words, my lord, are but the beginning of the path to friendship. Should you make it words and action, I would be glad to start over."

"The lady is gracious." Erestor said, reclining on the chair. So there would not be a diplomatic incident between the realms. And just as important, Glorfindel would not behead him.

Not to mention, he felt genuinely relieved to have made peace with this sylvan elf.

"Does this mean that you will show me how to do that maneuver?"

"No," she said, filling her plate with grilled venison.

He filled both their cups. "Not even if I beg?"

She stopped her fork in mid-air to stare at him. "Not even then."

"Pity."

Eámanë concentrated in the food for a while, and it occured to Erestor that she had said there was peace between them merely for the sake of courtesy.

"You fight very well for someone who claims to have forsaken the sword for books."

"Some things cannot be entirely forgotten. You are very skilled, too. I have the bruises to prove it."

"I should not have done that. I apologize."

Erestor raised his eyebrows before he had time to school his features into neutrality.

"You did not think I would perceive my own wrong, my lord?"

"I did not think you would feel the need to apologize for doing what you were told."

"You were exceedingly angry. I realized that perhaps you thought me a cheater."

Erestor placed the cup back onto the table very carefully. "Indeed I did, and for that, too, I beg your pardon. A very wise friend of mine has reminded me that we must use all of our advantages in a time of need."

"Glorfindel has been too hard on you, my lord. He is somewhat overprotective so I must tell you not to berate yourself too much." She wetted her lips. "Besides, I have learned a thing or two from our game."

"It was not Glorfindel who told me that." He held her eyes for a moment and considered telling her exactly who had berated him. But the wood elf spoke before he could make up his mind.

"We will never put this behind us if we keep talking about it. Although…" she glanced around to the spot where another woodland elf was seated. "I think I will take advantage of you, my lord Erestor, and have no shame whatsoever in doing so."

Erestor tensed. "If there is anything within my pervue that I can do for you, you have but to name it."

She bent her head to whisper in his ear, utterly shocking him with her request.

"It is said you are great among the masters of lore still in these shores." She retreated minutely. "Would you teach me for a while, Master Erestor?"

His breath escaped in a sigh and he smiled. "What do you wish to learn?"

Eámanë bit her lower lip and looked up to the ceiling, lost in thought. "Everything."

"Everything would take a rather long time."

She snorted. "I know. But you asked me what I wanted to learn, not what you would teach me."

"True. What do you want me to teach you?"

"Why don't we find out as we go?"

"I'd rather have an idea of what is most important to you, so we can study it before you depart for Thranduil's Halls."

"I will not be going home for a while yet." She sighed. "This is the first chance I have had to see the world as one could before the Shadow fell. I intend to seize the opportunity before I return to my father's house."

"'Twas a rather long night." Erestor said, thinking of the War of the Ring. "You should enjoy the light."

"I will," she stated quietly, her eyes fierce. "Believe me, I will.'


	4. For a Life Less Ordinary

**Chapter 4: For a life less ordinary **

"_Even while men teach, they learn."_

_Letters, Seneca._

"…The First Age ended with the Great battle, in which the Host of Valinor broke Thangorodrin and overthrew Morgoth." **(1) **Erestor looked up from his book to find Eámanë looking out into the space. He repressed a groan. Not that utter lack of interest was an unusual thing, especially in the study of ancient lore, but she had asked to learn. Gathering all his patience around him, he closed the book and crossed his hands atop it. "Would you rather go out and say goodbye to your friends? The Elves of the woodland realm leave at dawn tomorrow."

"Nay, thank you all the same." She sighed, sat up straighter and contemplated him for a long while. Her cheeks were flushed, but Erestor was not feeling very charitable at the moment, not enough to ease her plight. Few inattentive students found him complacent. But she surprised him when she asked, "tell me of your home, Erestor. What was Ost-in-edhil like?"

"I beg your pardon?"

She flushed further and looked away, her fingers twisting a golden strand of hair. The motion was succeeding in unnerving him. The councilor was one step shy of restraining her restless hands.

"Forgive me if I am too bold, but you did tell me to ask anything I felt curious about. I asked Lord Elrond about Eregion the day before yesterday and he told me to come to you. He said you were born in Ost-in-Edhil. What was it like... I meant, I know what is told of it usually, but I wished to learn from one who walked in its paths and lived there. What was it really like? "

The older Elf's eyes became shadowed as he recalled his life in the city of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, or more accurately the end of it.

"Ost-in-Edhil was a beautiful place," he said. "The Mírdain - Celebrimbor's people - built a great dome of glass and metal over their hall in the center of the city. When the sun shone, it caught the crystals they bought from the dwarves and hung from the dome. We called it the House of Rainbows." He smiled a little at this. "I'm probably not the best person to ask about it. I was only a lad when the city fell. Still," he said, inclining his face slightly away from Eámanë's, "I remember it well."

"And I'm the worst excuse for an Elf there is, I should not have asked. Look at this, you have that look upon your face again," she said ruefully, and once more looked down.

"Look? What look?" asked Erestor, worriedly. "Do I have a look?"

"Don't try to argue with me on this one, Master. Yes, you have a look. I could wager you are able to worm your way out of any difficult meeting with that face, but I'm a hard lady and won't let you off the hook so easily."

"Everyone has memories that they do not wish to recall, but perhaps it's good for them to air them once in a while," he said, pausing to study Eámanë closely. "A hard lady? Surely not. Hardened by toil and struggle, perhaps. But not a hard person."

She looked up and straight at his eyes then, holding his gaze for a long while. In the gentle morning light she was lovely, Erestor realized with a start, all pink and gold. The clear blue eyes were mysterious and full of depth, too. His newfound pupil and friend suddenly seemed a person completely unknown.

"You have never seen our city, have you? Taur-e-Ndaedelos. Oh, people call it Mirkwood these days but from within the borders, it is beautiful, Erestor. We moved north, away from Dol Guldur. The Necromancer pushed us so hard that there was no possible defense in the south. It was too open except for his stronghold. So our Lord built his Halls within the hills, near the river. A simple bridge leads to the building, flowers and herbs its only decoration. A large metal gate opens or closes at Thranduil's will. But inside, oh, inside! Tunnels and channels are ever lit and sparkling and everything bursts with life."

She smiled at him, checking to see if her attempt had hits is goal. "I talk too much, don't I? I'll heed your counsel for a while, some fresh air might do me good."

"No! No, you don't talk too much. Not at all. It was fascinating," he said. "Not that I want to keep you from your friends, but if you feel inclined, I would be most interested in knowing more about your home. Ever have the Silvan Elves been reticent, even among our kin."

"A hard blow to the pride, but true." She rose. "I am hoping such things will change in time, now that we are at peace again. Maybe I will show you the beauty of my homeland someday, if you like."

"I would like," he replied, rising as well. "In fact, if the lady would be so kind…"

She laughed. "I thought us beyond formalities Erestor. Was I mistaken?"

"No, indeed not. If you would be so kind, you could tell me more of the woodland realm."

"An interchange of sorts?" she bent over the table to squeeze his hand. "I would be glad to be of service. But now I think I may have overtaxed your patience and must run for cover whilst I can."

And with that Eámanë left the library and went out onto the patio. Nearly a month had passed by since lady Arwen's begetting day and most of the envoys were leaving to return to their homelands.

She had made certain to exchange stories and impressions of the wider world with at least one Elf from each Elven settlement. Galdor of Mithlond was one of her favorites, with a keen mind and a sharp tongue. They had spent many a pleasant hour in friendly dispute. When he left for the Grey Havens, he had given her a ship miniature carved in wood.

Lacking the foresight to pack plenty of gifts for exchanging with those she met on her travels, Eámanë had found cause to part with her scabbard. Though it had been a gift from her father, Galiond, she parted with it knowing that she had made a friend and learned many tales of long ago ages; in her mind, a more than fair exchange.

Most of the Elves had walked in these same halls and jested with her in the Halls of Fire. Orophin was always ready for mischief and often pulled pranks on her. She had been shocked when Lindir casually commented on the fame of the warden.

Not to mention Glorfindel. At first she had been flattered with his attentions and open-mindedness. Then she had been seriously worried the balrog slayer might fancy her; how would any maiden say nay to one such as he? He was fair beyond her ability to describe, and brave, and joyful and wise and… but for some reason there was no spark of attraction. Thankfully as the days passed by it became clear Glorfindel did not see her as more than a friend. Still, he was awfully protective of her.

Eámanë realized she had nearly entered the realm of daydreams when she found herself face to face with a serious Nessimo. He was a great friend of her fathers and also of hers, but the good Elf had vehemently disagreed with her staying behind at the last Homely House. If Nessimo had his way, she would go back home and never set foot outside Mirkwood at all. Her own parents had given her leave and blessing to fulfill her heart's desire, however, and even if they had not, Eámanë was honest enough to know she would have gone anyway.

"Will you not change your mind, my friend? It is not too late yet."

She embraced the elder Elf tightly. "It is never too late to go back home, but there may be a time when it is too late to go out. Don't begrudge me this, Nessimo."

"I do not like the idea of leaving you behind." He stepped back to examine her face. "You already look different."

She toyed with her hair. "Do I? How so?"

"I am not entirely sure." He frowned. "Will you be careful?"

"Nessimo, I am in the House of Elrond."

"Humor me." He turned back and shouted a few last minute instructions to another of their party, then faced her again. "I will be back as soon as possible—"

"_Nessimo."_

"—And I shall escort you home—"

"Nessimo, I am not going home for a while yet…"

"Surely by then you will have satisfied your wanderlust—"

"Nessi." Eámanë put her hand on his shoulders. "It is not a whim."

"Yet I wish to believe we will have you back soon."

Eámanë looked at the Elf packing the horses. Ordinarily elves did not have much use for saddles, but they did come in handy when there was luggage to be carried. She held her hand out for her friend and led him through the paths of the garden.

"You will always have me, Nessi. But I must go my own way now."

"Haven't you always?" Nessimo halted them both beneath the statue of Gil-Galad. He opened his mouth to lecture her, but the sound of soft elven steps kept silenced it. "Send word."

"I will."

Nessimo dropped a kiss on her forehead and returned to the other Silvan elves in the patio. Eámanë stood where she was, looking back at the blur of activity and pondering if she'd ever understand the workings of the world.

"Your lover is distraught over your parting. You mustn't blame him for that."

"And they call me noisy." She smirked. "Has anyone ever explained the concept of privacy to you?"

Glorfindel stopped a few paces from her. "You do not seem overly angry, nor did I think I should thread carefully with you. It is rare to be able to speak one's mind without calculating the possible outcomes, I enjoy doing so with you."

"No, I am not angry, Glorfindel." She smiled and pointed a stony bench on the edge of the garden. They walked towards the bench silently. When they sat, Glorfindel took her hands in his.

"Then let me trespass once more, my friend, and tell you there is no earthly treasure worth being at odds with your beloved."

"There is no earthly treasure worth denying your own self either, or so my father tells me. I remind him of that often when he chides me for being too lively, or too free."

Glorfindel pulled a stray lock of hair behind her shoulder. "Aye, that is true also. But surely there is a compromise you both might reach?"

The lady rested her cheek on his hand. "At times I tell myself that I want to learn what lurks behind your eyes when you look at me… and then I tell myself that I probably do not want to know, not if our friendship is to survive. It is a frail thing yet, is it not?"

Glorfindel took his hand away as if it burned. "Eámanë, I fear you misunderstand me."

"No, I don't think so. Nor do I think you enamored of me, so be at peace. It is only that sometimes I do not know whom you see… but that is a matter for another day. If I tell you that Nessimo and I are not lovers, nor have ever been lovers, would you rest your mind?"

"He is very protective of you," the blond said, and put some distance between them. Eámanë sighed when she saw that.

"And you also, but that does not mean anything beyond friendship. In fact, I find myself doomed to overprotective people."

"Do I bother you with my attention, lady?" He was so very cold, so very formal, that Eámanë reached out for his hand again even though it would not give her any response.

"You are a wonderful friend, and I count myself blessed to call you so. I came here with nothing to commend me but a favor my father asked of Nessimo and the desire to see new lands, and you welcomed me with open arms."

"What else should I do? You came, we met, we befriended each other. What else is there to think about it?"

Eámanë was silent for a while. "Never mind," she whispered, and schooled her features to a brightened mask. "In any case, Nessimo is but a good friend of the family who is skittish at leaving the baby girl on her own, though it is long overdue. You need not worry about our being at odds in that matter."

The Elf-lord relaxed slightly. "I will see you tomorrow morning then, when we say goodbye to your fellows."

"No, I have said my goodbyes."

"In that case…" he rose from the bench. "Mayhap you could ease my boredom by showing up at the practice fields tomorrow morning? I fear I will grow slow and timid if I do not practice constantly."

"'Tis the very first time I've heard an Elf lie," she replied coyly. "You do not fear for your skills in the least."

He shrugged. "Come anyway. We will play a little."

She laughed. "As the lord wishes.

**

* * *

**(1) Tale of years, in The Return of the King appendices. 

_Taur-e-Ndaedelos - The Encyclopaedia of Arda_ says it means 'The Forest of the Great Fear' in elvish. Sindarin.

_Amon Lanc_ was the name of the hill in southern Rhovannion that later became known as Dol Guldur when Sauron took hold of it. The fortress he built received the same name.

_Halls of Fire: _a hall at the house of Elrond where the fire is ever lit. though it is seldom used by day, at night the elves gather there for singing or tale-telling

_Galdor of the Grey havens:_ He's Círdan's representative at the Council of Elrond. I had had his name wrong, but a reviewer pointed it to me. Thank you _Glorfindel's Elf Princess._

_Orophin:_ Brother to Haldir and Rúmil, warden of the Golden Woods, escort the Company to Caras Galadhon when they reach Lothlórien.


	5. Shadow of the past

**Chapter 5: Shadow of the past**

_'Elves know a lot and are a wondrous folk for news, and know what is going on among the peoples of the land, as quick as water flows or quicker.'  
The hobbit, J. R. R. Tolkien_

**Imladris, 2460 T.A.**

Eámanë put her father's letter in her backpack's secret pocket and left her room in search of someone to talk to. Loneliness was swelling in her heart and fair Imladris was much too melancholic that day for her liking. The letter had made her pine for her family anew. Woodland elves, being merry and playful people, were not accustomed to lingering  
sadness. So Eámanë set out to dispel the gloom.

Walking down to Elrond's office, she heard muffled sounds that indicated he was already back at work. She wanted to ask him when messengers would be going forth once more. The lands were quiet, true, but between the Last Homely House and the Halls of Thranduil there were many places for ambush where the dark creatures of the world roamed. Caution was a must.

Though she was well accepted in Rivendell, it would not do to interrupt an important meeting for reasons less than pressing, so she decided it best to approach Elrond later. With a weary sigh, she turned to the kitchens in search of one of the cheerful people who worked there. Among the Elves, it was the males who usually took up the task of cooking, and the souls in the kitchens of Rivendell were as happy and playful as  
children. They were good company at any given time, in contrast to some of the more serious Elf-lords and wardens.

"Hail, Tulquar. Anything of interest today?"

The dark-haired Elf did not even turn from the huge pot of stew. "No, same as yesterday when you last asked."

Eámanë snorted. His ill humor was merely a deeply ingrained habit, and all his assistants knew. He pretended to bear with them all, and they in turn pretended to bear with him. Lisso suppressed a smile and send her a wink. "What do you desire today, beautiful one? I have not yet made desserts for dinner, therefore it is the lady's choice."

"Would you let me bake it?"

"No," Tulquar and Lisso replied together.

"I am perfectly capable of baking."

"I appreciate it, but we prefer to keep the reigns. Or the spoons," Tulquar said acidly. Eámanë gave him her tongue.

Lisso walked around the table and dragged her to the far side of the kitchen. Even though they were fast friends now, the Elves avoided touching, so all she could feel was the firm but aloof contact of his palms on her shoulders. And even that was brief, when they had walked what Lisso considered a reasonable distance he withdrew the contact.

"Do you truly wish to help?"

"Yes, please. If you do not find me an occupation, Erestor will try and make me recite the Elegy of Gil-Galad, and I do not wish to do that…"

"But why, pray tell? You should be dedicating yourself to the study of lore. Or has Glorfindel been hindering your lessons with all that metal clashing you two like to do and you fell behind in your studies?"

Eámanë frowned. "You make it sound like a bad thing. I assure you, Lord Glorfindel is merely worried about my safety. It is true that we travel in groups, but still the world is a dangerous place, and it is best if I do not depend on the skill of others. In fact, I used to 'frolic in the mud', as you say, long before I met—"

"Peace!" Lisso said laughingly, holding his hands up on the air. "I did not mean to offend Lord Glorfindel and therefore you do not need to champion him, Eámanë."

"It is just… Some say it is not feminine to be so interested in sword fighting…"

"Has anyone insulted you?" Tulquar asked from across the room. Elven hearing was both curse and blessing, Eámanë decided and blushed further.

"No one would dare," she said bitterly. Not openly, or intentionally. It was just the shock in the eyes of people that made her uneasy. She took a deep breath and changed the subject. "And I do not say that I would not like to recite the poem because I do not know it. I say it because it is a particular favorite of the councilor and he makes me read it  
every day."

Lisso's eyebrows went up. "So?"

"It has two hundred thousand verses," Eámanë said, with feeling.

Lisso merely repeated himself. "So?"

The sylvan Elf let a scream of pure frustration escape her.

"Give the lady a task, for pity's sake," Tulquar ordered. Eámanë regained mastery of herself and smiled at Lisso.

"Fine. If the lady wishes it, you may prepare the second furnace. Tulquar wants to bake a handful of apple pies."

Eámanë opened her mouth to object, enraged. Among the Elves cooking was a task for males, true, but Ellith could undertake the baking of bread and other pastries. Tulquar had refused to let her come near the oven when she asked, even when he was going to prepare something she could have done.

But then her eyes strayed to the end of the corridor, and she froze. Lost amidst huge kettles of boiling water and herbs of all kinds was a very flustered Elf lord brewing what had to be tea enough for a gwaith. Erestor could be unbelievably vexing at times, but he was also caring and thoughtful. She fought off the embarrassment and hoped against hope he had been too engrossed in his own musings to overhear her complaints. Though chances were poor.

"Greetings, Lord Erestor. Are you that thirsty? This seems to be enough to drown an Elf!" she said playfully, her heart hammering within her chest.

Erestor looked up, a little startled at first, but relaxed when he saw it was Eámanë. She seemed in a good mood, which was a relief. The sad, apprehensive atmosphere that was currently cloaking Imladris in the wake of the last rangers' reports needed to be dispelled somehow.

He was starting to genuinely like her.

"I have no such intention," he said, a wry smile on his face, "at least at present. It seems all the cooks otherwise occupied and Elrond needs refreshments for a weary group of travelers. Typical!" He flicked a tap on the side of the vat - an ingenious Imladris invention - and began filling cups. He flashed Eámanë a smile.

"Would you care for tea? I would have made chamomile too, to calm certain nerves, but I fear it would send the mortals among them straight to sleep, and we can't have that. What say you?"

Eámanë smiled at that - apparently Lord Erestor had not heard her comments on his favorite poem, and he had a genuine light in his eyes and smile. That smile was infectious, and she felt herself with the urge to laugh and tease and make mischief.

"I seem to recall some mortals do drink chamomile, although not as strong as we are used to brewing it, milord." she said, taking the cup of tea from him, letting her fingers brush his lightly - she was a wood Elf, for pity's sake, not some proud Noldo, and goodness knew if anyone at Imladris needed to relax, Lord Erestor would be at the top of the  
list. With a start she realized she had not seen him all day, even though she did come to the library to return the Lay of Luthien…

For a moment, Erestor was aware that Eámanë's fingers had made contact with his, in a way that was quite deliberate.

Oh Valar... it had been a thousand years since something like this had happened. And, as in the matter of swords, he had completely lost his touch.

"Chamomile," he managed. "Making a good infusion is considered an art here in Imladris. The mortals have the basic idea, but they do not always extract the right parts of the flower. The result is leaf-flavored tea..."

He realized he was rambling, and took a sip of his own tea, which was subtly pink from the strawberry infusion. Erestor then noticed his cheeks were turning as pink as the tea, so he began fussing with the trays.

Eámanë was irrationally pleased to see the elf flushing. 'I must be more lonely than I had realized,' she thought.

He looked down and saw that he had two trays piled with tea-cups.

"Err... do you think you could help me with these?"

"Of course. Where to?" she asked, placing the empty teacup on the sink and picking the nearest tray. She had been begging for something to do, and now she had it. And Elf lords looked far less intimidating when their ears were pink.

"Elrond's office." Erestor lead the way in quick strides.

He hesitated briefly before entering the room. "Excuse me, Lord Elrond. We brought you some tea."

Eámanë was smart enough to realize Erestor had given the lord of Imladris a warning should he choose not to speak freely in their presence. They both waited for Elrond's response.

When she was given leave, the Woodland Elf entered the room silently. She couldn't help but notice that there was a council of sorts taking place in the office. Imladris, lovely as it was, lacked Mirkwood's sheer majestic size, and there was no Hall of Hearing or anything of the like. Any political gathering had to take place either in Elrond's office or  
outside on his stone patio. The few people at this council were well accomodated here indoors: Elrond himself, Mithrandir, another elderly man who was clad in a ragged cloak of travel-stained brown, a giant of a man with black hair and dark beard and the largest, strongest arms she had ever seen in a Mortal Man, and finally two slimmer men with the  
shape and sobriety Eámanë had learned to associate to the Dunedain. Tall, grim and noble, with long dark hair and deep grey eyes.

They all thanked her for the refreshments with short nods and she turned to leave. It was quite clear they were eager to return to more pressing matters and Eámanë was an intrusion. Elrond, however, called her back.

"Mayhap you should stay, lady Eámanë."

It was, strangely enough, Erestor who objected. "My lord Elrond, I would never question your wisdom or your leadership, but I must ask if you are certain of this." The tone in the councilor's voice was almost normal. She had not yet come to know him so well that she could discern the reasons behind the slight variation in posture, or why he felt she would  
not be trustworthy enough.

But it hurt, nevertheless. She had been so sure they were friends.

Elrond must know what caused Erestor to object, for they stared at each other for a moment. Then Elrond nodded, and it seemed to her he had said to his friend something in that long glance. "I am certain, my friend." He turned to her. "Take a seat."

She nodded and sat, concentrating hard on the tips of her sandals.

Elrond took his own seat and spoke, gazing at her. Gentleness, and sorrow, and a will of iron underneath it: all of that she felt as the words blew through her.

"We have news that are hard to bear, my dear. There is no softening the blow, The Necromancer has returned to Dol Guldur."

"Is this certain?" she asked, seeking the eyes of Elrond and his friends. "There is no doubt about it?"

"No, there is not," said the great dark man. "All wild things scatter even further from the hill, the very air of the night grows evil."

"I have looked into this matter myself, and the Dunedain have helped me," Mithrandir said. "There is no doubt, the master has reclaimed his fortress."

"He is no master!" Eámanë cried, livid. "Those are our lands, bought and kept with sweat and blood since we halted in the Great Journey, and they belong to us! To us! He stole it." She took a deep breath. "He stole it, and violated it, and corrupted it, but he does not own it. It is ours."

"Be that as it may, he is back," Mithrandir said.

"How…" she had to take another deep breath, as the fear threatened to swallow her whole. "How much of it he has claimed, do you know?"

"A great deal of it," one of the Dunedain answered. "Most of what he had before, and much that he had not. I was not there in his first invasion, but I would say he is now much stronger."

Eámanë had to close her eyes, had to put her hand on her face as if it would stop the blow. Someone held her other hand, caressing the knuckles gently. She knew who he was, as she knew why he had tried to keep her out of the meeting. Strangely, Eámanë could not be mad, though she wanted to. Anger would be so much simpler than that bottomless fear.

She lowered the hand on front of her face. "And now… Has Thranduil had word of this yet?"

"He couldn't possibly miss it, my lady," the dunadan spoke again. "The Necromancer is not trying for subtlety this time."

"He never has," she muttered. Then she spoke, mostly to herself, "Now what?'

"We will need to gather ourselves again to discuss this matter." Elrond positioned himself more comfortably in his seat. Strange, she had never seen him unsettled before. "The messengers will start the journey come the morn."

Eámanë frowned. Erestor leaned to whisper in her ear, causing Elrond to raise his eyebrows slightly.

"Lord Celeborn will need to be advised, although I think he already knows. Dol Guldur is closer to them than it is to you, though it lies in the Rhovannion lands."

Eámanë felt completely stupid. "Oh. I see. You are thinking of a joint effort?"

It took her a moment to fully process the startled look in the faces of the others. Then anger did come, fast and boiling hot.

"I thank you for the courtesy of warning me," she said icily, rising. "But you have much yet to discuss, and there is no further need of my presence now. With your leave, my lords."

And with that she stormed to her rooms, to pack her belongings.

**

* * *

A.N.:**

_About Erestor_: I had a Brazilian reviewer complimenting me on 'showing Erestor's background'. Praise does not belong to me. As I mentioned in the first chapter, this fic is the editing/rewriting of some two and some odd years of RPG playing. Erestor as a Noldo elf, member of the House of Celebrimbor, and survivor of Ost-in-Edhil and the fall of Eregion was Jenny's idea

**1.** Sauron returns to Dol Guldur, stronger than before, on 2460 T.A., after almost four hundred years of Watchful Peace. But the White Council is only formed in 2463 T.A. Celebrimbor took some ninety years to rouse the Mírdain and allies against Sauron, but the WC was formed three years after the Necromancer return.

**2**. LoTR gives me the impression all Dunedain looked alike. See how alike were Halbarad and Aragorn? True, they were cousins, but all rangers were descendants of the Men of Numenor and therefore related to some degree (it was an island…). Who, exactly, these dunedain are is unclear. They'll remain unnamed. ;P

**3.** 'Dark giant of a Man' –idem, ibidem. Beorn, his descendants (And forefathers) had the lifespan of your garden-variety Mortal. And they were definitely Men, too, in spite of the shape-shifting abilities.

**4.** _Eámanë having a screaming fit at Elrond's office._ Seriously, as one of the wisest beings of Middle-earth, Gandalf was sometimes way off target. He'd already told the Sylvan Elleth about the Big Bad Guy coming back to haunt her homeland, and to add insult to injury, he called said Big Bad Guy Master of Dol Guldur (even though he kind of was, seeing that he had power over those lands). Ouch. Bad Gandalf, no cookie. Pay attention to the Professor's description of the Wood-elves: _They differed from the High-elves of the West, and were more dangerous and less wise._ That should give you a hint…

_**5.** "Those are our lands, bought and kept with sweat and blood since we halted in the Great Journey, and they belong to us!_

All right, the OFC is sometimes dramatic, but she was serious then. Very serious. Some one thousand Valinorean years before the First Age, the Valar called the Elves to the Blessed lands so they could be free from the threat of their Big Bad Brother (In this case, The Biggest Bad Guy of ME), who was wreaking havoc, murder and mayhem in Middle-earth. That originated the first division of the Elves in houses, i.e., the Three Kindreds who answered the call and would be henceforth called Eldar (translated simply as Elves) and The Avari or Refusers, who obviously did not answer the call and disappeared from the world's reckoning. Very likely to become folder to the making of those first orcs by Melkor. That trip (The Great March) lasted two hundred years for the Vanyar and Noldor, and some thirty years longer for the Teleri.

Among the elves, the Vanyar went (and arrived) first, with the second house, Noldor, following close. The Teleri or Lindar went at the end of the line. But here things get complicated, since the Teleri divided themselves into various subgroups:

_Falmari_, those who arrived in Valinor and later became Elf-BBQ in Alqualondë;

_Sindar_, followers of Elwe, later called Eu Thingol. Elu met the Maia Melian in the woods and they fell hopelessly in love with one another, founded a Kingdom, and had for daughter the most beautiful woman ever to walk on Earth. She was Lúthien. The daughter, I mean. You probably heard her tale, even if it was mentioned somewhere. Anyway, a good portion of the Teleri stood behind to look for Elwe, and they became the Grey-Elves (Sindar) of Beleriand;

_Nandor_, who changed directions in the middle of the road and went to Beleriand to dwell in Ossiriand;

And some other of the Nandor changed directions and/or halted east of the Misty Mountains, and became the Galadhrin of Lothlórien and the Sylvan Elves (or Wood-Elves) of Mirkwood.

The Galadhrin lived basically throughout all ME's history in the same spot. The Wood-elves, however, had to move up north as the Necromancer took hold of Amon Lanc/Dol Guldur and spread his power and terror northwards. They fought in the War of the Ring and the long war against the Necromancer, but it is fairly logical to deduct they had to defend themselves against dark creatures through all the ages of the World, since they had no magical aid Like Melian's Girdle or a Ring of Power.

Phew. That was almost an essay.


	6. Fire and Fury

**Chapter 6: Fire and Fury  
**  
_To Lucasta, going off to the Wars  
By Richard Lovelace (1618-1658) _

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind  
That from the nunnery  
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind  
To war and arms I fly.  
True, a new mistress now I chase,  
The first foe in the field;  
And with a stronger faith embrace  
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet, this inconstancy is such  
As thou too shalt adore;  
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,  
Loved I not Honour more.

"You cannot be serious," Glorfindel cried. The smell of leather was still strong in him. He had just returned from beyond the border with the Dunedain. "Nobody will escort you to Mirkwood now that the war has started again. Will you not wait?"

Eámanë threw her last leggings into the bag and closed it. "You do know that the last time the Necromancer came to Dol Guldur he stood there for over a thousand years, don't you?"

"And you plan on going there!" Glorfindel stood between her and the door. Eámanë arched her eyebrow; the bedroom had a balcony more than large enough for her escape the impediment he presented. It might be complicated to get by him if he decided to be difficult, but in truth she was trusting that he would end this nonsense soon.

"No, I plan on going back to the palace of my king. I am not quite so presumptuous as to think I understand more of warfare than his captains."

"Some sense at least!"

"Which is why I will join the ranks and follow their lead."

"Well, I am not so trusting of these captains," Glorfindel spat, grabbing her shoulder. "For I remember how well they served. Two-thirds fallen in the last Alliance, was it?"

"You want to be _very_ careful what you say from now on, Glorfindel," Eámanë hissed.

"It is suicide."

"So be it!" she cried, pushing him away. Glorfindel, however, would not be swayed.

"Why do you rush into danger, Elwen? There is nothing but death down that path!"

"We are alone, Glorfindel." She said. Her fingernails dug into his forearms and still his grip did not loosen. "Two-thirds fell at Dagorlad. The survivors defended Rhovannion against Doll Guldur on their own for another millennia. And there are the spiders and trolls, and _yrch_, and olog hai… if we get reinforcements, my lord will need every one of his people. I can fight, I am joining the ranks. That's all you need to know."

"You are not going!" He thrust her far from the door and onto the bed. "I have not trained you to fight in the guard. I just wanted you safe."

She pulled the hair off her face, but did not rise from the bed. "And what authority have you over me, beyond friendship? Have you become my liege whilst I wasn't looking? Have you somehow acquired more power over me than my kin and my king?" she turned and rested on her back. "Will you tie me to the bed for as long as the war lasts?"

"That is the best idea you had today." He muttered, seating himself on the armchair near the bed. Glorfindel sighed. "Why, Elwen?"

Eámanë went utterly still. "Are you naming me, Glorfindel?"

He lifted his gaze from his boots to her own careful gaze. "I spoke out of turn."

"In many ways," she agreed, and sat up. "I am not her, Glorfindel."

He looked away. "No, but you remind me of her."

Eámanë grabbed the bag on her way out. "I must go," she said at the door. "When this is over, if we are both still in this side of the Sea… I would like to meet you again."

"What does your heart say?"

"_Please_," she said with some derision. "Not that speech again.'

He laughed, though it was not a happy sound. "Go, my friend. I tell you, we will meet again this side of the Sea."

Eámanë turned her back on her friend and went for the stables.

There was no one there to help her put a soft saddle on her mount and tie the traveling bag on it. The mare followed her to the road at an easy pace as Eámanë's mind focused on what route she should take through the mountains.

"What madness is this?"

Eámanë tilted her head to the side. "Are you going to try and tie me to the bed too?"

Erestor continued to stare at her, aghast. "Tie you? Whatever for?"

She rubbed her eyes. "Never mind. Could you please just pretend we already had the whole discussion and step to the side? The hour grows late and I would like to gain some ground before I have to rest my horse."

"Where are your escorts?"

"I travel alone," Eámanë explained patiently. "With your leave?"

He exploded. There was no other word for it. Glorfindel's reaction she had somehow predicted, but the quiet loremaster was a surprise indeed. Erestor reached her side in two quick strides and threw her over one shoulder before she had a chance to figure what he was doing, and was halfway back to the main building before she gathered her wits enough to protest.

"Put me on the ground!" she tried a few hits on his back to emphasize her point. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Have you even told Elrond you were leaving? After all these years he has accepted you in his house with open arms, and you planned on leaving him like a thief in the night!"

"I will have you know that I did say farewell to Elrond."

He only put her on the ground when they reached his chambers, much to the amusement of the onlooking Elves. He kicked the door shut in their faces.

"Well, you have not said goodbye to me!"

"I left you a letter," she said. "It is unfortunate, the circumstances of my leaving, but truly there is no time to waste."

"A letter? A letter!" he threw his cloak on the ground and Eámanë swallowed hard, her eyes huge. "Am I so little to you then, that I deserve even less than the courtesy of a farewell greeting? I thought we were friends."

"And I too." She took a deep breath and approached him, but he was so furious that she dared not touch him yet. Throughout the many years of their acquaintance, Eámanë had accustomed him, if not to the Sylvan need for touching, at least a greater ease with being touched. But he was too angry, and she would not dare it now. "There has always been truth between us, Erestor. You know as well as I that no other Elves will come to our aid."

"You cannot know that!"

"And our need is dire enough that Thranduil cannot spare a sword."

"You cannot know that either!"

"They said Sauron has claimed even more lands than before." She punctuated every word with a stab of finger on his chest. "I lived with his shadow on my doorway all my life. I saw all my friends called to the Guard. I had to leave a home barely constructed time and again because he was gaining ground and the army could not secure our settlement. Don't dare tell me I do not know how things are in my own homeland."

He grabbed her forearms. She would have some bruises there before dawn. "I see. Is there any way I could dissuade you from this folly?"

She shook her head. "You know, a person gets tired of being called a fool. It really isn't a nice thing for you to do."

"Nay, but it is the exact term for this situation," he muttered. "I have hardly ever met someone so stubborn, and I have seen any number of difficult Elves..."

"I prefer to call it loyalty," she replied icily, "and I do not care to say what Elves who have the means to offer aid but step back should be called."

He regained his composure instantly. "So that is what you think of us?"

"You have said it, not I." She made to sidestep him and open the door. "I was actually thinking of what should be said of me if I didn't go."

He pressed himself against the door, closing it again. "Is that what worries you? What will be said?"

"No, I worry about what will become of my homeland and of my people if we don't take advantage of every resource."

"You are not warden material," he objected weakly.

"Oh, I beg to differ," she said. "I had quite a reasonable sword arm before I came here, and that was before Glorfindel fancied to teach me his tricks. I think I am as ready as one can be."

"If you are set on this path there is nothing I can do to keep you from it," he said and opened the door. "But I will ask that you give me time to arrange an escort for you. Surely you can wait a few hours?"

Eámanë rested against the doorsill. "I would be home tomorrow if I could, but an escort is not a thing to dismiss. Aye, I will wait a little."

"I'll meet you at the stables at the third hour."

He crossed the door, but her soft calling stopped him from moving further. "Thank you, Erestor."

"You are welcome," he said, somewhat stiffly. And left.

**

* * *

A.N.:**

**1- Elwen**: star-maiden. And I am not telling who she is…

**2- Names and Naming:** an Elf could have many names. The father gives him a name right after birth, in a public ceremony. That's the name they'll carry officially until they choose another. The mother can also give a name, usually with prophetic insight about the character and/or fate of the child. When the Elfling reaches a certain age, he can choose a name for himself that will substitute the father-given name henceforth. There were also the nicknames given by friends or lovers. Using a nickname without being a close friend or family was a serious faux pass. Also, at times a person would have a title being used as a name.

Ereinion Gil-galad, for example. His name was Ereinion. Gil-galad was a title added to his name (and later substituted the name), probably by one of his subjects, referring to the deadly, pretty Spear he had. You can make as much fun of it as you like, the Spear of Gil-galad was rather famous :)

**3- Rhovannion:** the name of the region south of the Grey Mountains and East of the Misty Mountains, where Mirkwood was.

**4- Spiders of Mirkwood:** descendants of Ungoliant, the spider who sucked the life out of the Two Trees. These evil creatures are very large, intelligent, they can speak and generally hunt in groups. They have infested Mirkwood since Sauron came to dwell in it, as the Necromancer.

**5- Olog Hai:** just as the orcs are made in mockery of the Elves (and from tortured elves) and the Uruk hai was an improved and stronger version of them, the trolls were made in mockery of the Ents, and the Olog hai were an improved, stealthier, stronger, smarter version of the trolls. They could even endure sunlight without turning into stone. In the battle before the gates of Mordor, aragorn finds some trolls he calls mountain-trolls from the hills of Gorgoroth. However, the battl happened in plain daylight (or maybe we should call it twilight, since the sky was darkening, etc?), so those were probably olog hai and not trolls.

**5- Elf-women in the army:** see Chapter two's A.N. Elf-women and the military service.

Eámanë is saying if Thranduil does not get reinforcements, the situation will be so desperate the Elvenking will even accept women fighting side by side with men.


	7. In the Wild

**Chapter 7: In the Wild**

'_Guard your honor. Let your reputation fall where it will. And outlive the bastards.' "A Civil Campaign", (1999) **Lois McMaster Bujold**,_

The Chief Councilor did come back at the third hour, along two rather forbidding dark Elves that bypassed the courtesy of an introduction. Eámanë felt bad about asking their names in face of their obvious indifference, and wondered how they had ended up on her escort party. They did not look happy about their task at all.

Eámanë turned to retrieve her horse, cursing the necromancer and her lucky stars for sticking her with Dark and Broody. They were congenial enough that she was considering sending them home as soon as she reached the Old Forest Road. She was a Sylvan Elf, and had lived on the outskirts of the Woodland Realm long enough to risk sneaking home on her own. All shortcuts, all signs of danger were as familiar as the Green Tongue…

And for that same reason she knew crossing the darkened woods without escorts when she could have it was the epitome of folly. Eámanë sighed.

And gasped as she saw Erestor tethering his horse to a tree just outside the courtyard. A peaceful and friendly animal, it started munching the lush grass immediately, a rare treat before a big journey. It looked healthy and glossy, yet its tack was simple, without the usual flamboyance that the people of Rivendell preferred.

Indeed, one who did not know him would have taken Erestor for a simple woodland elf that afternoon. In place of the richly embroidered robes that he usually wore were plain garments of dark wool. A long grey cloak concealed the glint of steel at his belt and the loops of ring-mail under his leather jerkin. To the untrained eye, he was merely a traveler passing South with a light pack, which he was now checking to see if he had forgotten anything. If nothing else, his attire should have warned her that Erestor was coming along. Eámanë felt a rush of relief washing over her.

"The attire suits you, my lord, if you should let me be so frank." she teased him, her eyes glittering with mirth. It was good to have at least one approachable companion in the trip; the others were but strangers to her, and not the most sympathetic of strangers at that.

"Oh. Thank you," he said, smiling just a little bit. "Do I make a convincing wood-elf?"

Eámanë gave him a thorough once-over.

"There is still room for improvement," she said with a perfectly even voice, "But it's good enough. And I doubt any but an Elf will see any difference. They tend to group us all in one house only. What do you know of our traveling companions? I have not exchanged more than a few casual greetings with them."

"I am probably not the best person to ask. My duties often keep me too busy to socialize. But from what I have heard of them, they seem brave and good-hearted. I am sure they will be good companions on this journey."

Eámanë received a rather disconcerting gaze from Dark and swallowed her personal opinion.

"Has anyone brought healing balsams? What I carry with me is hardly enough for a group."

Erestor nodded, and made a gesture indicating Broody on his left side. "Morin here has studied with Elrond, he will act as our healer if need arises. Now come. We are wasting sunlight."

"It appears we will have some more time to spend together, although the circumstances are grim. I am glad you're going with me, Lord Erestor. I remember you're quite good with a sword," she said with a grin.

Eámanë nodded at Broody next to Erestor and climbed on her horse. Dark was already crossing the gates of Imladris. He was setting the pace for the group, and it would be a hard one. The road to Rivendell was somewhat secret, but even so it received guests constantly, and the first few miles of road were clear enough to Elf eyes that she did not need to mind the trail. She guided her horse to run alongside the Bruinen, and they took the direction of Eregion.

Night came and went and still the elves rode on, silent as shadows.

"Halt!" Eámanë cried, and Erestor realized she was getting tired. It showed in the way her shoulders were slightly slumped, her skin was slightly less luminescent. And were those pale dark circles under her eyes? She sat up somewhat straighter upon her mare, easing the muscles of her back. "Do you know of any good spot for camping? Night comes and the horses are exhausted. Shouldn't we seek some shelter?"

Morin snorted. "Our wardens keep the frontier relatively clean, but still I do not like the thought of resting here. I think we should  
continue."

Dark obviously agreed, but he did not bother with actual speech.

"Shall we go then, before the horses loose what strength they have left?" Eámanë asked, and spurred her own horse forth. The mare forced herself to move, though at a tired trot.

Erestor pulled his own animal close to her so they could talk without shouting. "That is what I'm most worried about," he said. "Although all of our party clearly have the endurance of Oromë himself, our horses are tiring. We must stop at dusk and let them rest."

With that, he urged the tired creature onward and moved to the front of the group. He surveyed the sky, licked a finger and held it to the wind. He had not spoken his mind entirely, for he sensed the delicate balance in the group's morale, in particular between Eámanë and Hallatir. However, the wind was starting to pick up, and as the sun began to dip over the Havens, it was getting cold. The Misty Mountains were wreathed in cloud and their flanks were brushed with white. They would need no roving orcs or goblins to make such a journey difficult and dangerous.

The wind went from cold to colder as the light dimmed. The sunset was glorious in the mountains, the white snow turning gold and then bronze, finally acquiring the color of blood. The sight made her uneasy, for this path was dangerous, and such small group would be hard pressed to defend itself if attacked.

Erestor decided it was time to rest when he sensed Eámanë's horse, Storm, slowing down despite her urgings. Her mare was built for  
endurance not speed, an ordinary mount, steadfast and obedient but not capable of a forced pace all the way to Thranduil's Halls. They dismounted in a glade on the arms of the mountains and Eámanë unloaded her poor horse allowing it some hard-earned rest.

Eámanë glanced at the group who was enjoying the chilly camp as well as they could, hoping she did not look like a frightened deer. "I'll gather some deadwood for the fire, my lord, if you don't mind."

"Light no fire," Hallatir ordered, "we're too close to the goblins for that."

Eámanë tried not to tremble, and turned desolate eyes to Erestor. The whole honor and fealty issue was starting to look rather complicated and forbidding, and she fervently wished she could be less stubborn and hide in Imladris until the war was over.

Erestor looked up from where he was unpacking his saddlebag. "How many times do I have to say it," he said gently, "I'm not your lord. Just Erestor will do."

Eámanë nodded with a trembling chin. "My apologies, Erestor. It just... seemed appropriate, oddly. I hope you will forgive me my slip."

He glanced around their campsite, rather lacking in that it didn't have a fire. The other members of the party were valiantly trying not to look cold, but they were holding the cloaks close to their bodies. Erestor didn't like the situation at all.

He moved closer to Eámanë. "I need a word with you," he said, gesturing a light thicket of trees away from the camp.

"Eámanë and I are going to scout round the camp to see that we are safe to spend the night here," he addressed the rest of the group. "Get comfortable. Three-course hot meals on the way."

She walked slowly in the direction he had previously indicated, and surveyed the area around them. Eámanë had the worst feeling possible about it. The best Broody had been able to find, it was far from defendable. Too open, too vulnerable, too damn risky.

The only shelter they had.

"They should cuddle together," she said to break the silence. "To keep the chill off. I was afraid of suggesting so for men are oft proud and avoid closeness even at the expense of their well being."

The Elf-lord nodded and scanned the horizon. Eámanë huddled her own cape around her.

He paused next to a large holly bush. "I don't like this at all," he said. "We are so exposed, here in the open, and so close to the  
mountains..." He was sure Eámanë knew about the Goblin-kings that still dwelt in the darker crags, remnants from the last war.

"We are not strong enough to fend off an attack, " she concluded.

"We can move on in a few hours. Moving will help us all keep warm."

Eámanë bit her lips to restrain her groan at the mere though of resuming the march. "That being so, we should enjoy the respite. I see no sign of danger for now. Let us rest a bit." She paused for a moment, and grinned at him. "I'd tell them to cuddle, but better you do that, my friend. I think you have a better chance of surviving their ire. You and I can find warmth with each other and continue in a few hours."

He flushed. Eámanë casually slipped her hand in his arm, not so much for warmth as for the closeness. "You're a true friend and much more solid than any of us here." She glanced to where Morin was playing a soft tune, the men sitting far from one another and warming their hands with their breaths. "Although there's not much competition," she completed with an arched eyebrow.

Erestor rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Behave," he ordered, and patted her hand awkwardly. "Whether or not we have a fire, I think it would be wise to keep watch tonight in pairs. Shall we sit first? Morin and Hallatir are experienced wardens, but I would prefer to have them keeping guard in the quiet hours of the night and I, whilst I can still keep my mind focused."

"I must confess I am tired too, but let them rest while they may. I'll be glad to have your company in the watch-keeping; I'm not sure I can find any rest here so close to the mountains."

She shivered, and looked down to see if her cloak was open. A chilly breeze penetrated her garments. Erestor was fidgeting.

"And," he added, quite innocently, "We will need to keep warm."

Eámanë's eyebrows rose of their own volition, and she had the sudden urge to laugh out loud. At long last! She had been beginning to think someone might have to put a blade to his throat before Erestor would so much as much as wink at a lady.

He was rather cute, blast him. And funny. And wise. And loyal. And patient… a movement in the camp alerted her that she had moved too close to the councilor; Hallatir sat up straighter trying to find a position where he could observe them without being obvious.

She stared straight into Erestor's eyes. He was so endearing and did not really demand anything from her but what she wished to give. Eámanë did not want him to look back in the future and think she had been toying with him, for she was not. She was in truth attracted. She'd have to be blind not to be. Yet, what was real? What was the wish of her heart? Was it wise for her to go any further, when she was about to return home and fight against the Necromancer for Valar knew how long?

She wrestled with her emotions for just a minute, before she answered, equally seriously "Let's go back to the camp. You're an Elf on a dangerous mission. But worry not, my friend, I shall protect you if goblins descend upon us."

"I am glad to hear it," said Erestor. "What can a mere student of lore do against such fury?"

They had walked all the way around the little thicket, and seeing nothing untoward, turned back towards the camp.

"I remember that the 'mere student of lore' managed to beat me quite effectively, my friend. I was sore for a day after our little meeting in the practice field." Eámanë teased, glad the mood had lightened from the gloom and anxiety they'd experienced.

"It's awfully quiet," said Erestor. As ominous as the silence was, he reasoned that if anything had happened in their absence, they would have heard something...

"This is an isolated site," Eámanë said, brushing her hands along her arms to fight off the chill, "We'll hear any trouble-coming better this way."

"If I were not so concerned about our being spotted," he added, "I'd suggest a song to lift their spirits... What say you? A quiet one?"

"If it's quiet... I'll sing the song and you'll tell them to cuddle. Afraid I got the best part, Erestor."

She brushed his shoulder tentatively, furious at herself when she felt heat spreading upon her cheeks. Walking past him before Erestor could question her, she settled her bow by her feet and took some time to get the warmth back into her limbs.

**

* * *

A.N.:**

**1- Green Tongue: Nandorin, **or Green Elvish.

**2- goblins:** there is indication it's smaller specie of orc, but some say it is simply another name for the race.

**3- Durin's ruin:** Moria's balrog. Náin I is killed in the realm under-the-mountain at 1981 T.A., his father Durin VI had fallen the year before, probably killed by the balrog. The dwarved dig too deep trying to find _mithril_, and ended up awakening the balrog in the depths of the mountain, or maybe releasing him afte Sauron's growing power awakened the demon.

On 2680, and thus 20 years from the time in this chapter, the orcs will start the building of their secret fortresses in the mountain, to hinder the passage to Eriador. (Tale of the years)

Moria was abandoned (Balrog and dark creatures notwithstanding) for a long time. It's logical to think even before the fortresses started being built the orcs were gathering already, to terrify the unwary.


	8. A kiss to build a dream on

**Chapter 8: A kiss to build a dream on**  
_  
"Why this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God and tasted the eternal joy of heaven, am not tormented with ten thousand hells in being deprived of everlasting bliss?" _'_Dr. Faustus', Christopher Marlowe_

Eámanë indulged herself with a quiet ballad, noting that Dark and Broody became less and less forbidding as she sang. By the time the last note had faded into the night's air, they were even looking approachable.

Erestor must have noticed that too, for he looked apologetic when calling her out. "We have to patrol again," he reminded her gently.

"Again?" said Eámanë, glancing back towards the wardens. "You're right. Let's see if they feel more comfortable about... keeping each other warm, when we're not there to watch." Eámanë shook her own head, trying and failing to hide her own amused grin. In some aspects, all males were alike, no matter the race.

"At least we have the starlight," he conceded when they began scouting. "Although the clear sky is making it cold, Varda's lights are our friends. If there's anything lurking in those hills, we shall see it, I hope, before it sees us."

Eámanë looked around dreamily and sighed. Although the mountains held foul creatures, the starlit landscape was exquisite. "Indeed. The lack of fire shall work in our advantage, if the ellyn are indeed... sharing warmth. Tell me Erestor, did any of them suggest harming you when the suggestion was made?" Eámanë said playfully with a hint of restraint.

"They appeared too cold to be able to offer any kind of resistance, as you put it, to the idea," said Erestor. " Indeed, elves have been using this method to keep warm for centuries!" He glanced behind him, although the camp was now hidden behind a large willow-tree. "I cannot understand why there should be any fuss about it..."

Eámanë arched one golden eyebrow, looking pointedly at him. "I quite remember one elf in Rivendell who turned crimson at the merest meeting of fingers, Erestor. You should not be so quick to condemn the wardens."

"That kitchen always was badly ventilated," he said, "I maintain that it was merely the heat."

They walked on, following the circuit they had previously taken around the camp. It was now completely dark and a sharp flutter of wings above alerted them to the presence of a lone bat.

"Are your duties back in Lasgalen much like this?" he asked. "I confess, I am more an elf of paper and quills than heroic quests!"

"Not quite. Life on the borders is never exactly tame, but we do not seek danger and the wardens keep the area as safe as they can. We produce most of the goods the court needs at the King's palace, tend the forest, keep an eye out for unauthorized cutting of timber… many mortal men risk cutting a tree of Mirkwood thinking the king won't know it."She chuckled. "But word spreads fast among those who know how to pass it along. Every now and then there is need for a blade though, so ada and Maglin taught me how to use one." She glanced back to the dark elf, trying to disguise what was certainly another blush in the shadows. " _Be sure not to hold it by the sharp end_. You do very well for an elf of ink and paper, my... Erestor."

"Why, thank you," he said. "I trust you'll be fine in the coming years; you are clearly capable in battle." He gave a wry smile, remembering their little tussle on the practice fields of Rivendell. "Most elf-maidens are content for a life of lore and wisdom, or to choose a husband and become a mother. You are... surprising to us of Rivendell, but certainly not one to be underestimated."

He glanced back at Eámanë's face, lit by the starlight, her eyes on the ground. "I hope I have not offended?" he asked.

"That should not be so surprising, Erestor. I have had little chance to do any other thing. I was never lady-in-waiting material, so to speak; there are plenty of healers in Taur-n-Daedelos and I did not find an Elf that could accept me as I am. The prospect of denying who I am to enter wedlock as a tame pet has always been unacceptable." she said.

"I quite understand that," said Erestor. "I remember when I was but a child and lived not so far from where we are now, I was thought quite an oddity. I was no craftsman, nor had any desire to learn."

He paused to scan a shadowy-looking bush, keeping up the pretense of being on watch. "I suppose you and I have both chosen our own fate."

"Maybe," Eámanë said wistfully, "yet I'd rather say we both went out to search for it. Have you found it, Erestor? Your fate?"

"How would I know if I had?" he asked. His fingers brushed past hers, very lightly, as if he were just swinging his arms.

Eámanë gazed down to where his fingers had touched, trying to make her tired mind analyse the evidence. That could not be it. She was flirting with the shiest of all shy Noldorin Elves. Not only that, but he was flirting back. More yet, he seemed rather intent on finding out exactly where her heart was.

"How would any of us know? For all that I was told, your fate simply arrives one day." She repeated, still battling herself. "There's only one way to find out..."

"And which way is that?"

Eámanë stared at his dark eyes, making her mind up in one second and damning everything else to the Void. A moment of madness, why not? The tales were full of moments of madness. He seemed willing enough. Valar knew she was willing. "Trying." she answered simply, reaching out for him slowly, giving him ample opportunity to step back. She felt sure her heartbeat could be heard amidst the drums in the Goblin King's halls.

Before Erestor knew it, or had even considered what was happening, his hands had lifted to twine in Eámanë's silvery hair while he kissed her, pulling her close to him as they fell back against a tree. If all the orcs in the Misty Mountains had suddenly attacked, he would not have noticed.

He definitely did not kiss like a shy elf.

She had expected a gentle probing, a delicate exploration of bodies and minds and a continuation of the merry chase they had indulged in till now. Erestor apparently would have none of it. When they parted, Erestor smiled, catching her surprised expression.

"What do you think I was reading about as a lad, when I should have been learning how to forge metals..." he whispered into her ear, before moving close again for another kiss.The whirl of stars, the sounds of the wood at night, the cold... all of it vanished, and there was only her and him on the edge of the world... It should be illegal, Eámanë decided, to whisper on an elleth's ear if you're not her husband. It could give her some very inappropriate ideas...

"I doubt your reading was approved by your tutors, Erestor." Eámanë whispered when she broke for air, feeling immensely stupid and yet ridiculously happy for it. "'What, in the name of all that's green in Middle-earth,have you been reading?"

"Poetry," said Erestor simply. "All the surviving Valinorean epics, the Geste of Beren and Luthien... I was a very eager reader."

Eámanë arched her eyebrow again, but even to her it was obvious the gesture had lost much of its power. Erestor simply looked at her like one of those puppies, begging for a pat in its head, firm in the belief it'd done nothing wrong. "I can believe that. You seem to accept no half-measures once you make your mind up about something."

Erestor bent down to brush her lips again, a mere whisper of a kiss, then turned his head, staring into the darkness around them. "We shouldn't," he said, quietly. "I have obligations and you are to be a soldier. We cannot..."

But he did not break the embrace.

Had anyone asked later what she thought, Eámanë could not answer. "Indeed," she said coldly, disentangling herself from his embrace, and felt no need to add anything further. Whatever came from her mouth right then would certainly be poison.

It was absurd how quickly the magic vanished and how they were once again out in the cold, far from home. He wondered if he had been besotted by wine and had dreamed the whole thing.

"Eámanë..."

But he could not for the life of him find the right words. They stood there, two pale statues in the starlight, unwilling to go and unable to stay, weighing unsaid words in the uneasy silence. It was excruciating. "Say it, Erestor." the words were harsh and hurt her throat, whilst she fought not to cry. "If you regret it, we can simply pretend it never happened."

"I..." No. It would go against everything he had learned. How could he be a fair leader while involved with one of his party? Tensions were high enough in the group as things were, it could be dangerous... She had been his pupil until the previous day. "Yes." His voice was dull, flat enough to make him question whether it was really him speaking. "Perhaps we should."

As she turned away from him, perhaps because she didn't wish him to see she was upset, he laid one hand softly on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Eámanë."

She couldn't help it, not with the irritating condescendence in his voice, the underlying pity in his words. She quickly slapped the hand on her shoulders and turned around too angry to mind showing the tears in her eyes. "We have to finish the watch," she said quietly, wondering when she had learned to keep her voice so still... so dead. "And we haven't checked the southern quadrant yet."

"Watch... yes, I'd forgotten," he added, as if coming out of a dream. Somewhere in the thicket behind an owl swooped down and snatched something up in its claws. Erestor and Eámanë walked stiffly, further apart, both watching the ground and the shadowy trees around them. He did not dare look at her face lest it reveal an expression of hate.

The sight of her with tears in her eyes made him furious with himself, with her, with the whole situation. "I did not want things to be like this," he said. "But you do understand that a split in our party and we will fail. We cannot... however much it grieves me." And even that sounded wrong. Cold, pitiless, condescending... what kind of person was he? The answer seemed not to matter, for as long as he stood low in her esteem, not much else really did.

"You must be impartial, I give you that much," she stated non-concomitantly. "And ... well, we both know it would complicate matters. I shouldn't have imposed on you… there is no future for this …" she tried and failed to find a word. "There is no knowing where the wind blows from here" she said hesitantly, while her head kept replaying the scene over and over. The camp was coming back within sight and the last thing she wanted was to have two curious ellyn wondering what had happened. "Let's just forget all of it," although she rather doubted they could and saw their continued friendship as a distant dream. Maybe it was better that way. It was time to put her feet back on the ground.

Erestor pondered the ragged circle they had trod. Mere minutes ago they were joking about whether the wardens were keeping each other warm... and now it was just a memory, locked behind a barrier of cold silence.

"We are both tired," he said. "Morin, if you'd take the next watch, I would appreciate it."

Eámanë simply walked past the Elves and heaved herself on the ground using her cloak as a sheet and shutting her eyes immediately. By the stars, she was tired. And confused. And hurting. With a sigh, she let herself sleep. Valar knew she needed it. All those days pushing herself beyond the edge were taking its toll. So, she slept.

* * *

**A.N.:** The eldar avoided begetting children or getting romantically involved in times of war and uncertainty.

It could happen sometimes, though.


	9. Misery Loves Company

_Many thanks to Marcia for her infinite patience with me, and to Wenont who betaed this chapter and kicked me into writing a fighting scene that is actually credible. Thank you ladies. You rock._

**Chapter 9: Misery Loves Company**

_"What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans and the homeless, whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or the holy name of liberty or democracy"? Mahatma Gandhi, "Non-Violence in Peace and War"_

They had ridden from dawn to long after dusk. One long, hard day was so entwined with the next that Eámanë no longer had a clear notion of time and, indeed, often she thought she was living the same day over and over. Since the day after Erestor had told her no.

On the fifth day Hallatir allowed a fire this time, and it was allowed to burn only long enough to cook a couple of wild rabbits before being swiftly extinguished.

It had been enough. Eámanë did not even need Morin's crisp shouts of "Wake, wake! Something comes our way!" to know it- she was lying down, and the faint vibration of many heavy feet marching her way made her stand up and reach for her bow. The time had come to compare notes on bowmanship.

Eámanë was only vaguely aware of the other Elves closing around, as if to defend her as their foes came into view, but she had little opportunity to feel outraged at their protectiveness. A small group of orcs and goblins approached, some riding wargs. The Elleth gritted her teeth. The beasts were much larger than she had initially thought, and faster too. As soon as they were within her range, Eámanë started shooting the mounts. The wolves were her primary concern. Her hands shook slightly as she took aim, but the arrows flew true. With such large targets, it was hard to miss.

"Goblin-men!" she yelled, in spite of the fact that all others were seasoned warriors and, quite frankly did not need her warning. "They're coming!"

Eámanë used all the arrows in her quiver before the first line of goblins were within fifty paces of them. The horses ran away as they were trained to - or had someone told them to flee? - for they were of no use now.

Hallatir and Morin were showing why it was that Erestor had summoned them both. Dark rapidly shot his own arrows whilst Morin slew the goblins with two long knives. The company of goblins was, as they often were, disorganized and clumsy. However, their large numbers favored them, and it took the Elves long to establish a delicate balance to the situation.

Erestor heard the unmistakable sound of an arrow striking the heartwood of a rotten tree, not far from his head. Erestor swung his sword as strong as he could, holding it slightly above his shoulder and thrusting it right onto the orc's chest. In actual combat a warrior did not quite aim at the chest, but beyond, to really bury the sword into the opponent's body. The orc blocked the movement thrusting its dagger upwards, but couldn't quite pull it off. The momentum had the dagger sliding down the sword's length, down Erestor's wrist and arm, landing quite forcefully onto his shoulder's joint. The elf yelped in pain and swayed. He orc seized that moment to grab Erestor by the neck, pushing the elf a to the ground. Hallatir, seeing Erestor was in trouble, waited until he had a clean shot and focused his aim at the archer that was trying to strangle him to death as the councilor tried to grab the sword with the arm that still could move. The arrow hit the orc in the neck and it began to stagger about trying to steady its large feet. It at least bought Erestor more time.

Erestor decided, on a whim, that he had a certain casket of jewels back in Rivendell that he really didn't need.

He rolled from under his now helpless attacker. The orc's wound wasn't fatal, but it was certainly enough to render it incapable of fighting back. Erestor finished it in one stroke, using his left arm to reach out with his blade and slicing through its midsection, toppling it into a lifeless heap by his side. "Thank you, Hallatir," he muttered, before another snarling beast sought to engage him.

He managed a glance at the only fair Elf in the group, worried that she might feel pressured to engage in a folly act of recklessness, trying to impress the others. To his relief, Eámanë was behaving herself so far, staying close to Hallatir and not risking harm to herself without need. Normally, orcs were no match for the well-armed traveler, but these were larger than most they had previously encountered and many. Several wore plundered armor - Erestor paid particular attention that, those bearing Rivendell gear met a swift and painful end. Despite their numbers, the orcs were clumsy, depending more on brawn than fighting skill and, after a time, all lay dead. It was only when he plunged his sword into the chest of the last orc that Erestor realized how tired he was.

Once the fighting had ended, he took a moment to assess the damage done. There were orc carcasses all over and the camp, ruined. They had to get going before the goblins sent any reinforcements.

"Is anybody hurt?" Morin asked breathlessly. The others shook their heads in the negative. "We ought to move on."

They were horseless now, for the mounts had headed back toward home; toward Rivendell. The Elves quickly retrieved their fallen arrows, gathered what belongings that had not been lost with the horses, and started walking into the night. They had travelled no more than two hours when Hallatir raised his hand in the air, demanding that they stop and be quiet.

And so the group recognized the faint vibrations again. Eámanë did not even bother whimpering, but dropped her bags onto the ground and reached for her bow once more.

There were more, many more foes this time. She heard Hallatir muttering about them having met the scouts the last go round, with this next wave of filth being the main group. She gasped. The first assault had only been _scouts_?

Eámanë ran out of arrows, long before she had a chance to make any considerable dent in the goblins' force, and turned to the sword with a sense of awed trepidation. She had not lied to Erestor; she had a good sword-arm. This was but a taste of what her life would entail from that moment onward. She resisted the urge to break formation and run after the goblins.

"Eámanë!" she heard Erestor shouting, a moment before a very large orc threw her onto the ground and then leapt down upon her. Its foul hair fell across her face as it snarled; a snarl that soon turned to an anguished scream as she buried a hidden dagger deep into its chest. The fight continued around her, as Eámanë tried frantically to push the corpse from her prone frame. If something else came her way while she was pinned down, she'd have a difficult time defending herself. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she finally managed to free herself and join her companions once more.

Slash, hack, thrust, swing… more than once Eámanë fixed her grip upon the sword hilt, as her damp palms caused her hands to slip. She spun her blade and retreated, until Eámanë met someone else, and twirled around quickly to finish the thing off. Only to find that it was Morin, and she was well past the stage where she had wanted Broody ill. So, they stood back to back, fending off the goblins. Life had a strange sense of humor, Eámanë thought.

_Eleven… twelve, thirteen… fourteen…_somehow she was less nervous if she concentrated on keeping track of her kills. She was aware that the others had at least two kills for each one of hers.

She fought until her arms ached, grieving that her escorts had to rely on someone whot was clearly not at their level of skill. Once, Morin had to forcefully drag her out of a goblin-arrow's deadly path, and twice she almost tripped against him, knocked over by a rampaging goblin.

This skirmish proved more difficult to overcome and lasted much longer than the first. Tirion was positioned high above them by the time the Elves had finally balanced the odds turned them once again in their favor. Eámanë finally believed that they just might survive the night when a huge shape came out of nowhere and sent her sprawling far from the others.

Someone shouted. It was an Elf. She could not distinguish the voice, or remember how something so big and heavy had crept up on her. Her sword had landed somewhere to her right and she was unarmed but for a dagger, which she drew with much less speed than usual. But by the time she had taken it out of its sheath and gotten up on her feet unsteadily, it was over. The last of the orcs passed away with a strangled gasp. Eámanë bent to support herself against a large, hairy corpse. A warg.

That must have been the heavy thing.

"Are you wounded?" Erestor asked. He looked strange, Eámanë thought.

"I…" she wetted her lips, trying to feel her limbs. No worrisome injury that she could feel, at least whilst the blood was still running hot from the battle. There were some aches and pains from the times she was thrown on the ground, but she did not think that was serious. "I don't think so," she whispered.

He briskly turned her so he could examine her eyes in the starlight, the sudden movement causing dark spots to dance before her eyes. He then examined her scalp and neck with expert and nimble fingers. They were bloody when he retrieved his hands from her hair. Were they bloody before?

"I must examine you," he stated, already running his hands down the length of her body, alert to any whimper that might hint of injury. She could barely keep herself up straight, she was so dizzy.

"Whatever," she mumbled, swaying again. "Head's heavy"

"You knocked it on something," he said angrily. Oh, that would explain the blood. "Do your eyes darken?"

"Nope," she replied airily. "Real sleepy tho'. May ashleep?"

Erestor straightened up so swiftly she had to lean against the warg entirely not to fall down. "What did you say?"

"I said…" she did not complete the rest of her speech though, and fell forward into Erestor's arms. When she mustered the strength t open her eyes again, she saw in the distance Morin and Erestor discussing something, but she could no longer hear the words.

Morin shook his head. "There is nothing to be done for him." The healer did not bother looking at Hallatir's body, but picked up his bag instead. "Whether we go back to Rivendell or continue the journey can be discussed in daylight. All we need now is to find a safe place where the goblins will not bother us. I'll see to the lady once we are safe, and then I will be able to tell you something about her condition."

"She needs aid now," Erestor argued. "Surely it is not safe to let her remain unconscious and untreated when she has a head wound?"

"If we linger, we risk another group coming upon us. There are now only two of us who can draw swords, Erestor."

Erestor pondered the healer's words for a moment and then nodded his agreement. He did not like it, but Morin was right. He went to give the most proper burial he could for Hallatir out in the plains, close enough to their encampment but far enough away from the corpses of wargs, goblins and orcs. When he returned, Morin had lifted Eámanë from the ground and was waiting for Erestor with her in his arms.

"Follow me," Erestor said in a breathless whisper, and set off at a run away from the scene of battle. Branches snagged at their clothing. The ground became rocky and uneven beneath their feet as the trail began to drop away from the known path and into the wilds of Eregion. When he judged they could run no more, Erestor called a halt beneath a large sheltering overhang of rock. Above them, the peaks of the Misty Mountains obscured the Eastern stars, and a cold wind was cascading down from the heights. At least, the rock overhang afforded them a little shelter. Erestor pressed his ear to the ground, yet could pick up nothing distinct except the beating of his own heart. He thought that he heard the sound of several horses moving at great speed far across the land, but that was probably their mounts rushing to Imladris, and there were no tracks close by to be seen.

He stood up and turned back to the rest of the party. Morin was already examining the lady, heedless to the angry gash on his own arm. Erestor pulled out a small bottle from his own pack. It would not do for them to have Morin dropping from a poisonous wound. Erestor sat down beside the other Elf and inspected his wounded arm.

"Can you move it?" he asked, checking that Morin wasn't too badly damaged.

"Yes, but only just," Morin answered. "It hurts to do so."

"Most likely, that will be the bruising and swelling," said Erestor. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner, or he would have taken Eámanë from him, and Morin could carry the bags as they ran across the plateau. "Keep it covered up, and it'll heal," he said to him, then stood up, and clasped him on the shoulder.

"You're crowding me," Morin said simply. "I need space and the moonlight to see the wound."

Erestor mentally kicked himself again. "I can give you space, but I dare not provide light."

"Pass me the willow bark essence and the cleansing salve instead," the other elf answered.

"Is it serious?"

"I think not, but we'll only know it when she wakes. Thanks," he grabbed the small vials. "Take some rest. I will wake you if anything happens."

Erestor thought about making a token protest at least, but in truth he was drained. He had seen more action in a night than in all of the past century and, in any case, Morin would need to be awake to tend to Eámanë. It was best at least that one of their party was somewhat fresh if trouble descended upon them anytime soon.

He then moved away a few paces to lie out his cloak. He took a long swig of water from his flask, and checked himself thoroughly for injuries. He had none, save for a few bruises where the orc had punched him. No physical harm, anyway. But now that the blood was cooling within his veins he could allow himself to grieve for Hallatir, though they had not known each other well. Such a useless death; such a waste. Erestor fought back useless tears and wondered if he would truly find any rest this night. There was only so much emotion and physical strain he could take and, shortly thereafter, he had fallen swiftly into an elvish stasis. There were no dreams, and he was grateful. Perhaps his mind was simply too tired to produce any.

Eámanë awoke feeling so ill she wanted to vomit, but lacked the strength to turn upon her side. Her arms hurt horribly- she had a very nasty cramp on the forearm of her bow arm, a stinging gash on her left side and aching muscles all over. A gentle hand wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. "How do you feel?"

"So far, so good," Eámanë whispered, glad that her vocal chords worked properly. "We made it through alive."

There was a hint of trembling in Morin's voice when he answered. "I am glad you are feeling better." He made her drink something too foul for words and rest again. Eámanë allowed herself to be pampered, and even pretended to sleep so her nurse could take some rest himself. When Morin finally relented, she gave up the pretense and moved to study the scenery, wrapping herself within her cloak against the morning chill as the morning sun bathed the snow-covered mountaintops with a cloak of gold.

Erestor awoke with the sun shining upon his face, having slept all the way through the rest of the night. It was still chilly, but to the South he spied a bank of clouds rolling in. Well, this would bring warmer nights at least. He took a gulp of water from his waterskin, and looked around the camp.

He turned to look out towards the mountains, and just a little way off, beheld a golden-haired figure standing there alone, watching the morning sky, whilst Morin finally got the rest that was his due a few feet away from her.

He decided that the time had come to have a little talk with someone. Noticing no response from the wood-elf, he moved closer, until he could see the wind lifting strands of light hair off of her face. He couldn't make out her expression, though, although he did not doubt she knew he was there. If Morin was sleeping, then she was out of danger and well.

"Eámanë?"

Eámanë nearly jumped at the sound of her name, she was so sleepy. With a conscious effort she restrained from reaching for her dagger, and turned to the source of the sound instead.

And decided she was not quite ready to face Erestor. Not when she was so vulnerable, so frightened, and so tired.

"Is Hallatir off scouting?" she asked.

"No," Erestor replied. Eámanë closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheeks. He followed the movement of that droplet with almost fascinated attention. "He is not… He has passed to Mandos' Halls."

Eámanë sighed, bending her head low. She was not keen on facing his eyes, not quite yet. Not until she could construct a thick shield and act as nonchalantly as her pride demanded, and keep all emotion from her eyes.

"Do not grieve for those whose time has come," he said, his tongue tripping over the words a little. Damn. He thought he'd taught himself not to do that. "He was an honorable Elf, and he passed honorably."

Eámanë snorted. She was clearly unimpressed by the speech.

"I did not have a chance to ask Morin about your condition… Does your head hurt still?"

Eámanë could think of a zillion possibilities for that question. Her muscles ached, reminding her that she was still alive. The buzzing in her ears was merely an after-effect of her concussion. But the crushing weigh within her breast had a very different cause.

"It does not hurt as much as it feels heavy. I have a few minor scratches; I may have received a cut or two. Cannot feel it, though. It's a good sign, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," he said. "A good sign. Yes."

She stared at his eyes and found them veiled, guarded. She turned her gaze to the plateau again. It was already happening, they were drifting apart. No more teasing conversations, no more meaningful glances and shared jokes.

Maybe it was better that way. Eámanë had a tendency to get above herself, and she knew that. Eá head-on-the-clouds, her brother had called her. Erestor shifted, searching for a more comfortable position to sit on the hard rock. Eámanë heard a muffled groan.

"Are you wounded?"

Erestor was supposed to be a lore master, wasn't he? Where did those words that flowed so freely, when translating poetry or penning forceful letters, go, just when he needed them? He answered Eámanë's question blandly, because he couldn't touch the tension that seemed hung as taunt as a bow strung in the air above them.

""A few bruises, where that large fellow knocked me down. It was lucky Hallatir was watching out for me, really - I'm no warrior."

At that point, Eámanë gave him a good once-over glance, loathing at first, the air of comfortable freshness he possessed, starkly contrasting against her obvious exhaustion.

"I was out of arrows when you fell. It was good we had another archer amongst us. And do not worry about being a warrior- you have proved otherwise when it counts."

Erestor gave a brief smile at this. "I will try my best to keep myself alive," he said. " No doubt, we still have many dangers to face... The orcs' appearance was not a good sign. It is to be hoped that they attacked only us, and not that they are making a stronghold in the vicinity..."

Erestor narrowed his eyes into the morning sunlight, as if he was trying to see the path in the distance. "We're drawing near to the Redhorn Pass. That road is perilous."

"Indeed," Eámanë agreed, shivering in spite of herself. "It is. And we also lost our horses, my lord. Any road we take will be difficult on foot."

Erestor turned to face her. "I expect we shall have to walk very fast."

The reply sounded somewhat terser than he had intended, but he honestly didn't know. He, a lore master, defeated by logistics. He broke off, almost angrily. His manner betrayed that even he was weary and upset, even if he tried to hide it from the others.

"If you say so, my lord." she replied icily, turning around to awake Morin. They had lingered enough, and the journey needed to be resumed. Eámanë did not wish to spend another day on that side of the Misty Mountains.

Erestor decided that Sindarin was wholly too limiting for the curses he wanted to apply to himself. Divisions in the group be damned, he actually cared for her, and unlike the Noldorin ideal of the emotionless warrior, he knew he had hurt her.

"Do not bother him," Erestor ordered. "He is as weary as we are, and rested least of all. We will wait until he is well to continue."

"I thought you would say that we should return."

"That path is shut. I know it in my heart. Moreover, Elves do not give in at the first mischance. There are more powers at work in this world than Evil, and I feel that it is important we continue."

Eámanë blinked. "That being the case, you may wish to rest some more. I will keep guard this time, for I cannot walk the path of dreams."

Telling her that she was in no condition for keeping guard, and that all the armies of Dol Guldur could probably come within fifty paces of them before she knew of their presence, was much too cruel. So, Erestor merely wrapped his cloak more tightly against himself and said, "Nor can I. What do you say about breakfast? I think we still have some fruit and cheese to go with the bread."

Without a word Eámanë fussed with her bag and gave him one loaf, taking one for herself, while Erestor cut the cheese into slices. And without a word they kept guard, watching the healer's dreams together.

* * *

**A.N.:**

**1- wargs:** wargs were wolf-like creatures, intelligent and capable of speech, associated to the Powers of Evil. In the movies they are also called 'wolves of Insengard'. In the book, the Fellowship battles some of them before reaching Caradhras.

**2- Arien and Tilion:** the two maiar who drive the carriages that carry the last fruits of the Two Trees up in the sky, giving light to the world. Arien's carriage is the Sun and Tilion's the moon.

**3- willow bark concentrate**: the good old aspirin. The cleansing salve was most likely some alcohol-high solution.

**4- the path of dreams:** Sleep. The elves could also rest while their bodies were still functioning, i.e. Legolas 'resting' as he ran after the Uruk-hai of Saruman who had kidnapped Pip and Merry.


	10. The Redhorn Pass

**A.N.:** Thanks Wenont for betaing this chapter. Sorry about the delay (emrys, you in special). RL interfered. I'm uploading two chapters at once as a peace offering…

**Chapter 10: The Redhorn Pass**

_'Live as brave men; and if fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts.' Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)_

Eámanë knelt upon the snow-covered ground. 'Twas cold in the mountains, and winter was upon them already. She was too tired, too worried, too saddened. She had the impression that liquid weariness flowed within her veins instead of blood. But, though the path grew worse as they travelled, Erestor and Morin allowed no more stops on the march, and the unforgiving cold made her limbs numb as well as tired.

Up in the mountains the scattered rocks and scrub grass had completely given way to the snow. Tonight, there would be no shelter or, anywhere to hide. It made Erestor nervous. Thrice he had checked that his sword was loose in his scabbard, and at every sound he jumped, as if expecting battle. He took a sparing sip of Miruvor to calm himself down, before passing the flask round.

Eámanë walked and paused a tad far from the Ellyn, dropping to the ground heavily) -->. Keeping her deceit was a tiring matter, and her strength was waning- she did not wish for them to see her wearied state just yet. Folly it might be, to fool her companions into thinking she was anything but drained, and yet her pride- what was left of it- would not allow her to claim respite. So it was wiser to stand out, and let the cold starlight offer her what comfort it might. The path of elven dreams was not as soothing as usual, but reality was everything she did not wish to face.

The Elleth sighed and re-braided her hair, carefully tidying every stray strand of golden locks. The day had flown past in a blur of haste and worry. Thankfully, Morin had insisted that they rest a few hours, lest they risk her collapsing ('I am perfectly fine," she had lied, but the healer would have none of it). She would not be able to walk another step. The song escaped her lips almost in fleeing, and the sound was at once a plea and a benediction.

Eámanë sang of the Sea. She'd never seen the ocean before of course. Wood elves had a longing for the sea that was most dangerous to awake. It was not The Undying Lands that she longed for though, but the cessation of all struggles.

She snorted softly in indignation. Not a very auspicious beginning for someone who wanted to join the fight against Dol Guldur.

She was only vaguely aware of Erestor approaching her while Morin made himself as comfortable as he could on the snow. Their rest would not be long, just enough to allow tired muscles some respite, but still it made sense to keep watch. They had been attacked twice, and the present site held no more shelter than the previous ones had. _Oh Valar, for all that's holy, not another watch round. And in the name of everything green, not with him! _But it was necessary, Eámanë knew. They were entirely much too vulnerable, more than ever before on this ill-fated mission. Not a single rock; not one shadow to hide them from the prying eyes of their foe. All their chances lay on catching sight of their enemy with some anticipation. So, wearily she rose, and awaited the inevitable.

"You're not standing guard tonight," he said, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You look exhausted."

_  
_"I feel it, too," she confessed quietly. "But are you sure? These plateaus are wide, and another pair of eyes might be useful"

Curse manners. But truth was still the truth, and the need for survival was as strong in her as it'd ever been. Eámanë ran her hand over her braided hair, and checked to see if her knives were secure. They were. She'd lost a few arrows, but that was a small matter and not to be worried over.

Another twenty elf-warriors would be useful, thought Erestor, but he didn't say it.

"I'd rather you got some rest," he said. "The mortals may think we Eldar can endure anything, but sleeping occasionally is necessary on a journey such as ours."

"If you say so, Erestor, I'll take what rest I can now."

"Good. I will call you when the time has come." He smiled, regarding Eámanë's slender face, her pale skin catching a little of the starlight. Even dusty, dirty and tired from days of travel, she still managed to gleam like a bright crystal, in the gloom of the wilds in winter. Erestor sighed, and continued. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from your rest." A flicker of pleasant memory flashed across his face, and he smiled. "At least we don't have to make tea for all..."

"Great stars", Eámanë burst in laughter. "I will be glad if I do not have any tea for the next century! You High and Mighty drink entirely too much of the stuff. If we come back through the woodland men's settlements, I'll show you how it is done in the Rhovannion." At that her eyes glittered with mischief. "Let us see how much fire water you can handle."

Suddenly, things seemed a lot more hopeful then Erestor had initially anticipated . Eámanë was not angry with him any more. "Fire water?" he asked apprehensively. "Is that what gives you of Greenwood your legendary courage?"

"Pfuit," Eámanë remarked simply- not a very ladylike noise, but the look in his face was absolutely priceless. "Legendary courage..." she muttered bitterly. "We merely have no other option. Taur-e-Ndaedelos is surrounded, my lord, make no mistake. If we do not defend ourselves through strength of arms, the King's palace would be under siege."

She sat down, her back leaning against a cold rock, then brushed her hair back over her shoulders with a mock petulant expression and stated, her voice an uncanny imitation of Glorfindel. "Just something to warm the heart, child."

Erestor gave his first true laugh since they started their quest. "Then again, we Noldor are no better, with our Miruvor..." he said. "We shouldn't talk such outside the Elvenhomes, lest our good Secondborn friends get the wrong impression about our people... I've already heard all kinds of strange tales about our ways, from supposedly distinguished mortal scholars."

"Ever heard of the abduction myth before? That was one of my favorites when I was growing up," Eámanë rambled on, her former fatigue forgotten. "It was said that the wardens of our forest- oh, I do not know if with yours it is the same- would take hostage any fair maiden that wandered too far. I wonder if the Children of the Sun really think we are as luscious as they are. I even met several families in Esgaroth who swore upon their houses that their line was thus created. Most disturbing. Especially when you are trading with them."

"It does make you wonder," conceded Erestor. "I think we frighten them a little, to be honest. There was a village of men near Ost-in-Edhil, when I was a lad. They used to have a ring of stones around their village, to protect them from our faerie magic."

Eámanë's head spun so fast she could nearly hear a 'crack' sound. She stared at him for a moment, her mouth agape. "Protect them from our faerie magic? They think they need protection _from_ us? By all the stars, that's rich!"

She felt her neck complaining when she stared up at him- the stars shone brilliantly above, but her muscles were too stiff to sustain that exercise much longer. Oddly, she was totally uncaring about the watch - they were elves, and they were up on a mountainside, if anything approached, they'd know. With that in mind, Eámanë lectured Erestor, "Oh, please, sit down! You're making my head hurt looking upward!"

"Oh... sorry," he said, and dropped himself back down on the rock. The thought of actively keeping watch had crossed his mind too, but the conversation was too pleasant. "I meant to talk to you earlier… I intend to thoroughly interrogate you about your customs in Lasgalen." Seeing her inquisitive glance, he added, "For my book, of course."

Eámanë smirked and arched her eyebrows upward. "It would not have anything to do with the fact that you also wish some information before entering the realms of Thranduil?"

Erestor gave an aw-gee-shucks shrug. "That too."

"Oh yes, your book. I think it will be quite an interesting piece of literature. I will ask you only this, in exchange for my information - lthough you could gather it from any other person, and I'm just another maiden in Thranduil's court. Write it in Sindarin, if you would be so kind. Quenya is not easy to read when you are unfamiliar with it, specially for a Sylvan like myself."

"I fully intend to write in Sindarin. Despite the tales you hear, most elves of Rivendell speak Quenya only as a ceremonial language, or just out of curiosity. Besides, Sindarin is my mother-tongue," he added, giving a, 'hey I'm just a normal elf' kind of smile.

"Are you serious? For some strange reason, I've always thought the Noldor would speak their own mother language among themselves. I guess it's the whole buried-in-scrolls thing."

Erestor raised one eyebrow at this. Eámanë had the funniest way to express herself at times. "Buried in scrolls? Is that the impression that I give?" He smiled, unconsciously scanning the line of the mountains ahead. "Actually, I've always been more interested in learning Sylvan. Quenya was the language of Valinor - it's very beautiful, truly, but no longer reflects the Noldor. Your tongue is bound to Middle-Earth, and in every saying you hear the streams, the wind in the leaves." He wet his lips, and continued. "I don't suppose you could teach me a couple of phrases?"

"'Al en assith.' she replied with a mischievous smile. " As you please. But do you think, when we are gone to Valinor, that this language of Middle-earth will fade in memory and the older will resurface?"

"I do not know," said Erestor. "Perhaps, but for the Noldor, I do not think Quenya will ever become our dominant tongue again. Too much has happened."

Eámanë suddenly felt near tears and knew not why. Erestor cleared his throat, still looking out to the distance, whilst she made herself more comfortable on the ground. She decided she needed a lot more practice in the area of ground-sleeping..

"If you feel inclined, I would be most interested to know more about your home."

Eámanë was almost slipping into the dream path when she heard Erestor's statement, and did not come back all the way. "I told you of the palace yet. But most of our people live on flets or cottages nearby. My family lived in as foresters, seven days from the main city until my brother joined the service. We have been pushed up north a handful of times, enough that we have learned to pack quickly, not to take for granted the roof above our heads. Ada resisted as long as he could, but one day we received orders from the king to abandon the settlement and for us to be close to the Guard's quarters."

Eámanë shook her head, trying to force out the memories that flooded her mind. This was not the time. She moved within her cloak, trying to get what comfort could be taken from stillness, and let her speech resume her storytelling.

"Oak and ash, pine and linden, chestnut and lime trees. All those grow wild where we live. And tall. The elder say there was a time when you could travel for weeks without encountering anything fouler than a stray group of mountain goblins. Now we cannot travel more than four days from Taur-e-Ndaedelos without meeting spiders and orcs, olog-hai and trolls. But ever the woods resist to the covering darkness, Erestor. Even with all the darkness, they still lighten our hearts. From the wood itself we take the example we wish to follow and, it is after our home we are shaped. Mirkwood has... I cannot explain it; for I am not proficient in the games of words. But there is something in there that captures the heart, in spite of all the troubles it has. It is not fearsome, not unless you do not respect the place- but, is that not so with all the places? Sometimes I think of Mirkwood as the sea would be. You have to respect it. Say rather that it is unpredictable, full of temper, and fascinating."

She gifted him with a tired smile. "I keep telling you I talk too much."

"Well, I did ask," Erestor said, smiling back. "You've made me glad that I have to visit your land and see it for myself. Odd, really, that I have lived in Middle Earth for almost five thousand mortal years, yet have never explored so much of it..."

They fell quiet then, each wandering the paths of their own thoughts. Eámanë was clearly grateful to rest, and before long, she too slept. Yet long into the night, Erestor lay awake, thinking of the forest canopy melding into the dark waves of the sea, and through it all he glimpsed golden hair.

It was Morin who woke them up, a little before sunrise. Eámanë cursed the fact that they were crossing the pass in early winter. The Redhorn had been much more merciful in late spring. Now all that existed was the infindable cold path, the endless snow falling and the tricky road. They needed to get to the other side, reach the Old Forest Road and make their way into Thranduil's halls safely. They held a fast pace, and did not stop to rest again until they had reached the western side of the Misty Mountains the next day.

The three elves stood up straight, taking in the beauty of the forests ahead. On the far south, the Golden Wood with its tall mallyrn; on the west and north, dark green ancient trees, so tall and close, sunlight almost did not reach the round at all.

"Home,' Eámanë said simply. Then she strode in the northwest direction. "We go through the woodmen settlements and the Old Forest Road." She glanced back at the two Ellyn. "We must not stray from the road. Let us find the Mortals quickly, and keep your wits about you! We still have goblins near, and from here we are bound to meet trolls, olog hai, orcs and spiders."

"What I do not understand," muttered Morin, fixing the position of his bags upon his shoulders, "is why she looks so glad to come to a place with such guests."

Erestor shrugged, and followed them.


	11. Woodland tricks

**A.N.: Thanks Marcia for betaing this chapter.**

**Chapter 11: Woodland tricks**

_Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.  
Lord Byron (1788 - 1824)  
He deserves Paradise who makes his companions laugh.  
Koran_

Now that the party had reached Rhovanion, Eámanë took the lead and led them down the hill. Night was upon them again.

Morin wiped his brow, taking in deep breaths. "Where are we going?"

Eámanë glanced at Elrond. The Councilor shrugged. "To a settlement of woodmen. The borders are reasonably secure and we should be able to rest a little before going north. If we are to face the spiders, it is best to be fresh and ready for battle rather than falling asleep on your feet."

Morin scowled. "We are not likely to fall asleep," he muttered. His mood had grown fouler ever since they began the crossing of the mountain pass, but Eámanë thought he had his reasons. Hallatir had been his friend. So Eámanë bit her lip before responding, "I know, Morin. It is just caution, nothing more."

Her response seemed to upset him further. Eámanë pulled the bags from one shoulder to the other and decided Morin wanted to deal with his emotions in male fashion. Provoking a fight. But she was not nearly stupid enough to be the punching bag.

"How do we cross the Anduin so far north?" Erestor asked, irritated. "The Great River must be too cold to swim."

"It is icy cold this time of the year," Eámanë agreed. "But there is an old ford two days from here."

"We cannot go another two days without rest," Morin protested. "You will be ill."

Eámanë frowned and opened her mouth to deliver a good tongue lashing, but Erestor saved her by saying, "We will walk at night and rest by day. That way we will keep warm and need no fire." Morin did not say anything else and did what the councilor had ordered.

They crossed the Old ford on the morning of the third day, and then Eámanë took them south. "We go south to the village, or risk the forest," she muttered when Erestor complained about wasting time and forced them all to keep a quick pace even though she was clearly exhausted.

By the time the Elves saw a tall wooden fence, the Elleth had given up all pretence of strength and was leaning against Erestor for support.

"Are you well?" Morin asked from behind them. He did not sound too well either.

Erestor tightened his hold on her waist and grunted something even Elven hearing could not decipher. Eámanë tripped and would have fallen if not for his arms holding her.

"I cannot walk any more," she whispered. "Go, and ask the woodmen for help."

Morin was at her side immediately, checking her eyes in the twilight. "I do not like the idea of you alone, even for a moment, Eámanë."

"She will not be left behind!" Erestor shouted, and dropped to his knees at her side. The Elf-maid's strength was almost gone, that much he could tell just by looking at her. A cold stab of fear suddenly struck his heart. Tenderly, he lifted her into his arms, and then struggled to his feet.

"I am going to get her to the village," he told the healer. How long he would be able to carry her was another question, but it seemed somewhat anticlimactic to give up now. Maybe he would make it to the settlement. "We are close."

Morin narrowed his gaze and then studied the bundle in Erestor's arms. "Good enough."

Eámanë rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "Erestor? Will you not tell me a story?"

Any kind of distraction would be useful right now, he thought. "All right. I'll sing you a lay, although my voice is not very good... I'll sing of Beren and Lúthien the Elf-maiden. In Sindarin." He smiled, and then began.

_"A king there was in days of old:  
ere Men yet walked upon the mould  
his power was reared in caverns' shade,  
his hand was over glen and glade..."_

Even when his voice began to fail, he sang on in a near-whisper, and the shadows grew long. As night began to fall, they reached the glades of young trees that stood on the edge of the forest.

By now, Erestor was exhausted and ready to drop where he stood; yet he stumbled on until they came to a clearing. There he waited a moment, pausing to catch his breath and to admire the bright stars that gleamed above them, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a bowstring being drawn back.

"Peace," a tall Mortal said, raising a hand. "We mean you no harm, but we are accustomed to meeting orcs in this part of the woods, not Elves." He gave Eámanë a curious glance, but said nothing. 

Morin stood perfectly still, but Erestor knew by the way the healer's arms were relaxed and loose at his, that he would be ready to fight in the blink of an eye.

"Darkness must truly blind Mortal Men's eyes, when you take Elfkind for foe," her voice rose just slightly. "Put the weapons down, please. You can see we are in no condition to harm any of you."

The rangers lowered their bows, as their leader stepped forward, a concerned expression on his face, as if seeing the state of the travelers for the first time.

"This is Morin son of Nardil, I'm Erestor of Rivendell, and my companion is Eámanë daughter of Galiond. We have crossed the Redhorn pass." He paused and wet his lips. "Our companion fell before that. We come to seek the aid of your lord and somewhere safe to rest tonight."

"I am Amir, the leader of this settlement. You are granted leave to rest here for the night and for as long as you feel necessary." Apparently the Mortal thought that was all formality necessary, because with that said, he turned, and started walking, leaving the two travelers to follow if they would.

Realizing Erestor would not bear her much longer without falling himself, Eámanë made a final effort for those last yards. The village was not far from were the Mortals had met them, thank Elbereth, Eámanë thought with an audible sigh. She would not be able to walk much more. It was a wonder they'd made it this far. They were led past a small herb garden and a handful of cottages before entering the lord's house. It was, in fact, more of a communal edifice with apartments inside for the leader's family and guests.

Eámanë was so drained it was only when Morin was left in one of the apartments that she panicked. She was not so foolish as to trust the Mortals blindly, considering how fascinated they seemed to be with Elven beauty. She was too tired to defend herself. True, the woodmen behaved a trustworthy though rude manner, but still she did not wish to find herself alone and helpless. So she turned to Erestor, her hair escaping from the braids and swaying with her gentle movements, and spoke softly in Elvish so the men would not understand. "Could you stay with me tonight? I do not wish to be alone."

Erestor did not understand the implications of her question, and Amir opened the door to the next apartment. It was simple but cozy, and Eámanë could see a small living room and a sleeping chamber. She tried to convey her urgency with a look, but the councilor was still lost.

"… I shall have a meal brought to you, and a hot bath drawn. Rest tonight, we can talk in the morning when your limbs are in proper working order again," the man concluded, stepping aside so Eámanë could enter. She bit down her lip and in desperation pulled Erestor into the apartment by the hand. Before he could protest, Eámanë bowed graciously at the Man and closed the saying, "We thank you profusely, my lord. My husband and I are in dire need of some rest."

If Amir thought their behavior was strange, he did not show it. Apparently all things Elvish were odd to him. "I bid you a good night's sleep."

"And to you," she said, closed the door firmly and all but collapsed against it.

Erestor looked to Eámanë. "Now he thinks we're married," he said. "This could be interesting..."

Eámanë's head turned up. "You were not cooperating," she muttered. A knock on the door kept them from continuing their conversation. Erestor frowned when he saw Eámanë grip the handle of her knife behind her back as she answered the door.

"We come with dinner and water for your bath, my lady," said a young maiden. She was rosy, rounded and rather girlish.

Eámanë eased the door open without a word, but thanked the servants when they left. Erestor turned her around forcefully once the door was shut again. "If you do not trust them, why did you bring us here?"

"I trust them as much as I trust any Mortal Men," Eámanë replied bluntly, "enough to call to them for aid when need is dire. But I trust no Mortal to lie alone and helpless in his house, not when the Mortals are always babbling about Elves being so damned pretty."

"That's why you wanted me close," he whispered, taking one step back. "By the stars, Elleth, you are too young to be so cynical."

"The cautious live long." She shrugged. "By the way, should I rub your back, lord my husband?" she threw her hair over her shoulders as she walked towards the large wooden bath tube placed in the sleeping room.

"That's kind of you, my gentle wife," Erestor relied softly. He had never before paused to think of a maiden's fear in the Wilds. Even as they fought the goblins, he worried for their lives, not her virtue. The thought simply did not cross his mind. "But I will not exert you further tonight. You may bathe first, if you like."

Eámanë did not bat an eyelash. "I like," she said, and closed the bedroom door in his face. She undressed and bathed herself as thoroughly as her sore limbs would allow. It was nice to feel like an Elf, not like a walking wall of mud.Several minutes later, she dragged herself out of the bath tub because she remembered that Erestor would wish to bathe as much as she had, and put on a large robe she found in the trunk by the bed. Then Eámanë walked back to where he lay still stretched over the cushions.

He looked up at her, and gave her a little smile. She was beautiful, even more so with all the dirt of travel washed away. One of these days, he was going to tell her so, when his tongue allowed him; to to his consternation, it would not.

"You look nice." That would suffice for the time being.

"Why, thank you, Master Silver Tongue. You are not, however, escaping the bathing chamber." She said, trying to hide the fact that she was blushing. Since when did she blush like an adolescent over every nice thing someone said? Trying to regain her poise, she softened her tone. "Go and indulge yourself. I'll have your plate prepared for when you return."

"I think I do need a bath," he said, flicking his hand over the edge distastefully. "Won't be long." With that, he disappeared behind the curtain.

Eámanë fixed the salad upon the table and cut the meat on both their plates, then examined her work with a critical eye. She then arranged the table with fruits around their plates and filled two glasses with cider. The Elf was taking too long. She sat down and fought drowsiness with a glass of cider.

What would Erestor do if she brought him a glass on the bath?

She giggled, imagining his face. The next sip of cider made her calculate how she'd do it. There were no locks in the bedroom, only in the living room. He was a very important Elf-lord, and he had saved her life. Surely that'd call for a glass of wine? If she did not look… oh, it'd be hard not to look, but she only wanted…

Eámanë scowled. Maybe the weakness made the spirits go to her head quicker. What could she possibly want with an Elf who had made it clear her advances were not welcome? Still scowling, she filled a second goblet and entered the bedroom.

Eámanë was right, Erestor thought as he luxuriated in the tub washing his hair, his face and his feet; it felt wonderful to be clean again.

She opened the curtains, giving him but a fraction of a second of warning, averting her face and not looking in the direction of the bathtub, she declared, "I brought you some wine. It might help wake you if you surrendered to the drowsiness that tub provokes. I almost fell asleep myself." She laughed at the sound of turbulent water as the Elf clear arranged himself on a more dignified position.

Erestor jerked around as if the legions of Mordor were invading his bath. He relaxed only a little to see it was Eámanë with a motive no more guilty than bringing him a chalice of wine. 

What was so scary? He'd sparred with her, made tea with her, battled at her side, saved her life and been saved himself in turn. Why did he find himself turning bright red at the sight of her appearing in his bathroom?

"Oh... hello," he managed.

"Pity you Elves from Rivendell are so reserved. Otherwise I might have washed your back," She then turned around to face him, slowly, carefully, and handed him the cup. Oh for an artist to capture the look on his face! "Do you not have someone in Rivendell who does this for you? It is hardly a rare thing."

"I have never needed someone to help me wash," Erestor said, wincing a little under her gaze. He felt naked, both literally and figuratively. "I am... quite capable, thank you, as far as I know." Just to demonstrate, he took the washcloth from the side of the tub and deliberately washed his back in quick, circular strokes.

"Do I have all the dirt off?" he inquired, quite innocently.

"Actually..."

Before the Elf could react (and he would, given half a chance) Eámanë stepped forth and began to vigorously wash his hair. There were some spots of mud still clinging here and there and, quite honestly, she was just dying to bury her hands in his hair.  
She moved to his shoulders when the hair was done, methodically easing the tension accumulated over the days. It was clear that the gentle Elf was not accustomed to physical labor and the strain it had been on him.

"There," she announced with forced lightness, planting a quick kiss on his left shoulder. Hopefully Erestor would blame it on her all too carefree woodland upbringing and not on a sudden impulse to taste that exposed flesh. "Try not to take too long, Erestor. I'm starving."

With that, she fled from the bathing chamber and stopped in the middle of the living room, nervously re-filling a cup of wine and drinking it hastily.

Erestor blinked a few times after she left, wondering what all that was about. Although reading other people's motivations had always been a mystery to him, he was fairly certain it had been more than a desire for him to have clean hair...

Still, over the last few days, many things that happened had left his head spinning. With a mental shrug, he got out of the tub and tipped the water away. It wouldn't be polite to keep the lady waiting, after all. He quickly dried himself and found to his great delight clean clothes draped in the trunk: a raw cotton tunic and a pair of leggings, too wide and too short. He dressed and pulled his wet hair off his face, binding it into a half-plait. That would have to do; after all, tonight he was no one's honored guest or lore master, just a humble traveler with sore feet.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

"That's quite all right," Eámanë replied, hastily placing her cup on the table (which did, in fact, seem to retreat a few inches). "Should we eat now?"

"Let's," he said. "It looks wonderful, thank you for preparing it."

"I'm grateful they were kind enough to supply us with the meat," she informed happily, helping herself. "I'm better with salads and desserts, so you don't have to worry about being poisoned..."

Erestor laughed, before taking a bite of the salad. Valar, they tasted wonderful, fresh and crisp, better than even the summer vegetables in Rivendell. "Surely food this good could not be poisoned?" he asked.

She really was grateful about the meat. It was simply delicious. Eámanë applied herself to the task of eating her fill for the first time since Imladris. When she noticed Erestor's amused gaze, she blushed. "Forgive me. It is simply that I cannot help myself after I have gone without... fortunately, most the times I'm at home and mother knows better than to mind it. We are all forester folk, and that keeps the priorities very similar."

"You should not apologize," he said. "I had just… it is good to see you smiling again, my friend."

"I am glad you are here with me." She blushed further, but decided not to mention their kiss in the Wilds. "Morin is really sweet, but I prefer to have you around. He might not have understood my particular brand of humor. Which brings me to the next issue," she fidgeted lightly with the hem of her uniform and wondered distantly whether she'd have time to wash the dirty clothes and have them by the next day. There was still one gown she could use, a luxury she had not had the heart to forgo, a simple, cream-colored gown she kept with her, even though it was not really necessary on the road. She'd use it if she could; she could use to sleep. "It seems we'll have to repeat the sleeping arrangements."

With that, she parted the leaf-curtains and went into the bedroom, looking for something that might serve as a sleeping gown. She tried not to think that she was going to share a bed with an unattached Ellon. Oh well, they'd done that before and she was thinking entirely too much about it. It was rather logical they'd just turn around and sleep like the dead. Right?

When she had found a satisfactorily decent sleeping gown, she opened the curtains. The dress was even more chaste than her usual clothes. She took some time to find her voice, and the words were rather steady when she did speak, "Are you coming?"


	12. Dawning

**A.N.:** _Many thanks to Wenont for betaing this chapter. Again, sorry about the delay. The both of us were kind of wrapped up in the NaNo fever. Next chapters should come a tad faster. And without further ado, I give you..._

**Chapter 12: Dawning**

_But love is blind and lovers cannot see_  
_The pretty follies that themselves commit;_  
_For if they could, Cupid himself would blush _  
_To see me thus transformed to a boy._

_**William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)**,_ _The Merchant of Venice, Act II Scene 6_

That was supposed to be a restful night.

Though they did sleep close to each other in the Wild, Erestor had never been so aware of her as in that night. He had put a respectable amount of space between them, and even went so far as to place the pillows between their bodies. Yet he spent the night awake and aware of the gentle heat of her body, the soft and rhythmic sound of her breathing. The night air felt hot against his skin, and beads of sweat ran down his temples.

But he bore all that in silence, knowing she was even less used to the rigors of the road than he. It had been a long time since Erestor had seen an Elf on the threshold of utter exhaustion, since the flight from Eregion. Even Morin had been tired when they received Amir's rustic welcome.

Erestor turned around and turned the problem over in his mind, trying to distract himself from the fact that there was an Elleth not an arm's length from him. An Elleth he had held and kissed. And would have gone further if not for the frail balance of their situation.

Elrond would have whipped him, and with good reason.

Banishing from his fevered mind the image of a chastising Elrond, Erestor calculated how long the trip would last. Another week, if they could make good time and found no trouble along the way, he decided. The Dark Forest was known for being particularly dangerous, and so he had deicided to join the wardens. Glorfindel had given him that frustrating half-shrug of his, the one that meant nothing and everything at the same time, and had wished him good luck on the road.

Erestor had thought, at the time, that the blond was talking about things that could threaten one's life. He had not fully appraised the possible danger of something that could steal his peace of mind.

Groaning, he threw the thin wool sheets away from him and rose from the bed. He kept on returning to that subject. He was no good to either Eámanë or Morin if he could not focus.

"Back to bed."

Erestor almost jumped in the air, his heart beating madly in his chest. Her voice was still drugged with sleep, husky and lazy…

"Come back to bed. Morn dawns soon, and you'll have plenty of time to walk up and down."

Oh. Erestor ran his hand through his hair – only mildly bothered to find it tangled – and walked to the door. "I will leave you to your rest." _Go out. Go away, find some place to think._

Eámanë sat up and brushed her eyes. The gesture was eerily childlike of her, and his stomach turned to ice. _She's so young, so young, and I have taken advantage of her_.

"You'll keep me awake with your pacing," Eámanë muttered. She lifted her chin up, lips in a full pout. "I was having a good dream."

_So young, so young. My pupil. She was my pupil._

"I am sorry to have wakened you, then." He gathered himself and opened the door. "I shall not pace, I promise."

It nearly undid him to see that she had turned to the other side and hugged the pillows, one leg thrown over them in a parody of an intimate embrace. The door shut soundly.

True to his word, Erestor walked to the table ,sat down and became immobile. A week to Thranduil's Halls, Valar willing, and then some political dance was expected. He was Elrond's Chief Councilor, Thranduil would try to take advantage of that. If the old fox ever suspected how chaotic Erestor's thoughts were, he'd have much fodder for bargaining and manipulation. Not that Erestor truly begrudged him that. Thranduil was king of an endangered realm and would use whatever means at his disposal to protect and save it.

Eámanë would go into the Guard. She could barely be pressed into remembering to keep her scrolls tidy, or into storing back her writing utensils. She would go to the Guard, fight against the Necromancer's rising. Against he who had wrought a night of a thousand years. Ellith and Ellyn fighting side by side in the dark…The Sylvan would stand alone. The power of Imladris was not of the kind that could be lent, nor was Lothlórien's. Erestor felt his throat constrict once more. In a way he could admire Thranduil for keeping the Shadow at bay with so few men, with no ring of power. But he would forever remember Eámanë rubbing her eyes, or arching her eyebrows in defiance or mirth. And then he would curse Oropherion, the Necromancer and his own powerlessness.

He was dragged out of his dark musings when someone knocked softly on the door. With all the stealth he could muster, Erestor opened the door. Only when Morin arched his eyebrows he realized his hand had a knife in his grip.

"Not the most trusting soul, I take it," Morin said quietly, and shut the door behind himself. "I would not have thought this much paranoia from you, my lord, but it serves us well. I see you have kept guard over the lady."

Morin obviously thought it had been Erestor's idea to stay together, his suspicion that kept the blade at hand. The councilor did not know how to deny it without making Eámanë sound like a squeamish girl. "I do not know them," he replied.

Morin nodded. "I am glad you did. If the maid had not warned me about the wedded couple I would need to find a way into Eámanë's chambers. She might have been frightened, and Ilúvatar knows what could have happened; the lady has a wicked blade."

Erestor frowned. The mere thought of Morin sneaking into Eámanë's chambers was enough to make his foul mood return. That, and yet another mention of Eámanë in armed combat. "I am glad that was not necessary."

The other elf did not appear aware of his ill humor. "Since you are here keeping guard, there is no need for me to sleep at her bedroom's door. I bothered you only to inquire whether we are leaving today or accepting Amir's hospitality for a while longer."

Erestor turned his eyes in the direction of the bedroom, imagined the Elleth hugging the pillows, and an endless series of days where he'd need to act as a caring husband during the day, and lay restless on her side at night.

"We leave at daybreak."

Morin chuckled. "Alas, I was hoping for a chance to wash the clothing. But what must be shall be, and we best face the end of the road at once. I shall make myself ready to depart."

Erestor scowled at the door when Morin left, feeling robbed of a good reason to fight. At that moment a good exchange of blows sounded like a rather good idea. He ran his hand through his hair again, making a fine mess of it, and muttered a few choice words.

"Not a morning person, either, on top of suspicious. My, my, will wonders never cease." He bit his tongue to stop the newest stream of cursing as Eámanë stepped out of the bedroom, already back into her traveling attire. "I have this feeling you did not rest nearly as well as I have tonight."

"I was worried, and my mind reeled too much for me to dream. But the body is rested."

She looked to the ground. "Good. I take it we're thanking the good Amir and taking the road before the sun is high?"

"Unless you feel unwell?" he made it a question, and she quickly shook her head in the negative, still avoiding his eyes. "Then I think we should resume the road as quickly as possible."

"We must break our fast with them. Not doing so would be a terrible offense."

"I see no great hardship in it." He scowled further. They had been talking and teasing the night before, and now the maiden was all shy and awkward around him. That was a side of her that he had never seen before, but Erestor considered they had never been in such a predicament before.

"I'll go see if the maids need help."

"Surely they are asleep yet?" Eámanë nodded negatively again, but smiled this time. "Fine then."

She left. Erestor, unable to contain himself, kicked the leg of the table. Everybody seemed to be leaving him alone in the room, of late, and it was irking him to no end.

A few hours later they had broken their fast, thanked the woodmen profusely, and resumed their way through the forest. They made their way up north at a moderate pace, staying at the edge of the forest. Eámanë had said that this mode of travel should keep them out of the sight of goblins in the Misty Mountains, and of the fell creatures of the forest that preferred those places where shadow was deeper. This time they did not stop, day or night, until the Old Forest Road was upon them.

"What good is this road you keep talking about?" Morin demanded on the fourth sunset. "I see nothing but a slightly more open space among the trees."

Eámanë laughed, quietly. She had admonished them both to be at their most silent while in the core of Mirkwood. "This, my dear Morin, _is_ the Road." She adjusted her backpack on her shoulders and took a deep breath. "We must cross the forest until we reach the River Running, as Mortals call it. Along the river we'll have a relatively clear path to Esgaroth, and from there a boat to Taur-e-Ndaedelos."

"It feels as if the Forest dislikes us," Erestor muttered. "The air is close… so very close. There is hardly a shard of light through the trees."

Eámanë's voice was pained when she answered, and proud. In that moment she did not sound young at all, but old as time, old as pain. "The elders say it wasn't always so. But the evil that spreads from the South has corrupted much that once was. We had barely any time to heal the woods, and it is returned. I do not know whether there will be something to defend in a century."

"There is always hope," Morin replied. "You have done a wonderful job. I am certain you shall do so again."

Eámanë made as if to answer, but instead paused and stood perfectly still, her eyes unfocused. It was downright unnerving, Erestor decided, but went still himself.

"To the trees. Hurry."

Before he had a chance to ask what she was on about, the maiden leapt up onto the nearest branch, and climbed up an ancient willow tree with impressive grace and speed, apparently unhindered by the large backpack. Erestor and Morin were accustomed to plains and ground-level dwellings, and climbed with much less skill. Eámanë was all but throwing daggers at them when they arrived at the top branches.

"What in the name of—"

"Quiet!" she muttered, so forcefully that he was shocked into obedience. When the surprise was finally wearing off and Erestor was ready to demand a satisfaction, he heard the first few crunching noises of heavy feet walking upon fallen branches and dry leaves. How had she heard them from so great a distance?

She was not a warden yet, but she knew her forest well. Absently Erestor made a mental note to check if all Woodelves had that keen of hearing. If so, he'd need to tell Elrond to mind his words when in their presence.

Three large beasts they saw passing, thick green-grayish skin and large disproportional limbs. They looked fat, but Erestor knew that those protuberances were in fact muscle and loins. Large pieces of broken branchs served as their weapons, rotten pieces of leather covering their torsos.

It had been some time since he'd seen a troll up close.

As soon as the Sylvan deemed the trolls far enough from them, she turned to the Ellyn. "They usually go about in small groups. If those are all of the group, we are fine, if they have friends about, it is best if we move carefully. Let's put some distance between us. Can you walk through the branches?"

He knew his beast-lore too, even if he had been safely shielded in Imladris for the last millennia. It was the last part of her speech that had him dumbstruck. _Can you walk through what?_

"We are not used to travel through the trees, my lady," Morin answered. "We can find shelter among them, but we do not travel on them. As a rule."

Eámanë reacted as if someone had told her that Elves did not have pointed ears. "What have you been doing all those years in the valley? Imladris has woods, too, and --- never mind. We'll be more exposed on the ground." She waved her protests away and worried her lower lip. Erestor found himself oddly fascinated by that small action. "We shall need to run, as quickly as you can whilst still being silent. I will not be at ease until we are at least two leagues from here."

"Won't that attract the spiders?"

Eámanë nodded. "Ordinarily yes, but this area is somewhat clear of them – they dwell on either sides of The Road, but avoid The Road itself, for some reason." She sighed. "And I am extremely thankful of that. Trolls, however, are not quite so considerate. Keep your ears open for stray groups of orcs, too, they are quite daring once the sun is set."

"This is where you live?" Erestor was incredulous. That carefree, devil-may-care creature had grown up among these fell beasts?

She gave him a sarky smile. "No, this is where I lived, a very long while ago, when I was an elfling and the Shadow was still beginning to spread. We moved north, and then moved north again, and again… once this road was clear and safe and we had a rather lovely settlement not two days from here. It is now riddled with nesting spiders, and fouler things. But we must move on, Master Erestor, at all haste."

With that, she jumped down to the forest floor below in silence, and sprinted full speed eastwards. Wincing at his own slightly less quiet landing, Morin followed her.

"Well, I'll be damned," Erestor muttered, and dropped to the ground as well.

**

* * *

A.N.: A few notes about Mirkwood….**

You'll find a detailed map of Rhovannion in The Hobbit. There we see a few spots marked as 'wood men', the House of Beorn, some spider nests, Dol Guldur, etc. The nests stay at some (small, but to me significative) distance from the Old Forest Road. Still, Gandalf advised Bilbo and the hobbits to '_stay close to the road_ (or was it within? Memory's not what it used to be…)'.

Tolkien also describes the forest as overwhelming and sinister, though that might be the hobbit's impression and biased by the fact that they're lost in it with no food…

It was also my interpretation that the Wood-Elves had a close relationship with the Forest they lived in. Legolas says, at the Council of Elrond, that the forest was a dark place '_except where our realm is kept'_ (or words to that effect, Portuguese version here… sorry). I can't recal whether that happened in the book, but movieverse Legolas could also 'read' the mood of the trees of Fangorn. (Methinks so, since I remember him 'reading the mood' of the land of what had once been Eregion…)

Also, the ferret/boat traffic between woodland elven realm and Esgaroth must have been somewhat intense, and I saw no geographic marks that'd indicate difficult navigation at the Forest River or the Running River.


	13. The Cave of Wonders

**A.N.:** Hi gang. I've decided to upload the chapters un-betaed for the moment since the betas are well and truly overwhelmed with a hundred and one projects. I did run the spellcheck though, for what good it'll do. I'd expect to have the chaters betaed in the following weeks, but it's been a while, so I won't make you guys wait any longer. Forgive the raw state of the writing (and maybe now you'll appreciate the wonderful women all the more, knowing what they have to put up with). Without further ado, I give you,

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Cave of Wonders**

'_Reputation is what other people know about you. Honor is what you know about yourself'. **Lois McMaster Bujold**, "A Civil Campaign", 1999_

They met no more trolls in the Old Forest Road.

It was clear Eámanë was in her element as once Morin and Hallatir had been, before the Mountains. Watching her sense the moods and tricks of the forest gave the councilor a hint on how the Sylvan had survived the Necromancer so long. They knew their wood-lore well.

Yet it was almost a week before they came upon the River Running, and by then the Elves were exhausted indeed. Erestor had come to understand why Eámanë had insisted upon their visit to the wood-men: without gathering back their energies, surely they would not have been swift enough to cross the Dark Forest unharmed.

"What do we do now?" Morin asked, studying the great river.

"We go up," Eámanë replied simply. "North, and then East where the River Running meets the Forest River."

"Another race across the lands?" Erestor asked. The pace had been harsh and fast, and the Councilor did not believe they would be able to keep it much longer.

"We have daylight here, at the outskirts of the Forest. We could rest during the day. But when Isil is out, all dark creatures go hunting."

"Where is the nearest guard post?"

Eámanë frowned. "A few days northwest of here. But I would not risk that road, not without a good group of wardens. There are spiders there, that's why the Guards camp near. To keep them off our borders."

"There is no way then but the long way around?"

Eámanë passed her hand over her hair, checking to see if it was still in place. "No safe way, but the long way around."

Erestor nodded grimly. "Let Morin check on you when we camp."

She looked at the healer. "Are we still expecting any side effects from the bump?"

Morin shook his head no. "I think it unlikely, but it is always best to be cautious, specially with a head injury.'

Eámanë frowned again. She somehow doubted her head would show any side effect so late, specially after behaving so admirably during their wild race across the Dark Forest, but there was no arguing with a healer. He wanted to check her every day; he would do so, regardless of her thoughts on the matter.

"Well then," she said with fake brightness, "let's find us a good spot where we can sit and eat before the sun goes down. After I have had my dinner, you can touch my head and do uh-hmm noises at me to your heart's content."

Morin gave her a glowering glare. "I have studied many long years to do those noises, my lady.'

"Argh, has Erestor not warned you already? I. Am. No. Lady. Call me Eámanë, for pity's sake."

Erestor decided it was time to stop their bickering, lest he knocked their heads against one another himself. "I think that spot would do," he said, pointing to a distant clearing. "That one beyond the curve of the river. We'd have a good view of the forest from there."

"Hmm? What?" Eámanë asked, distracted. "Oh yes, that'd do nicely."

"Shall we be _off_, then?"

Both Morin and Eámanë turned to stare at him then. Erestor threw his hands up in the air. "I have no inclination to discuss whatever it is you two are going to argue about for the next couple of hours, when I could be resting and eating."

Morin, far from being upset, gave Erestor a brilliant smile. "I see."

"I think not," he replied hotly, strolling towards the chosen place.

"Forgive me," Morin said cheekily, almost merrily. "I had no idea my… arguments with the dame would upset you so."

Eámanë opened her mouth to object to the treatment yet again, but decided discretion was the better part of valor. Just what on Arda were they talking about? She was on much better terms with Morin than she had been with the late Hallatir, may Mandos heal his soul and keep him in the peace and grace of the Valar. Why was Erestor throwing a fit about it now?

"It does not upset me,' Erestor forced through gritted teeth. "Stop that!"

"Consider it unsaid," Morin stated gravely. But he winked at Eámanë behind Erestor's back.

Oh Elbereth. She would miss Morin when he left. After they had some time together, he had started to show a great sense of humor, sophisticated and sharp. Eámanë studied the area around the bank and, satisfied the spiders seemed to be hunting elsewhere, laid the bags on the ground. "We're out of cheese," she said gravely. "But I could catch a fish."

Erestor threw his own apparel on the ground, making a great deal of noise, and turned to the river himself. "I'll do it."

She mouthed a 'what's going on?' to Morin, but the Ellon merely shrugged. She then turned her eyes to Erestor, who was trying to use his long sword as a spear and stick the first unwary fish who came close enough. Before the hour was out, he had caught four, and cleaned them by the river using a small dagger.

"Are we to risk a fire once more?" Morin asked, grim again.

"We cannot eat raw fish," Erestor answered curtly.

"It's daylight, Morin," Eámanë said soothingly.

They ate and rested in silence after that. When the sun sunk in the West, the Elves gathered their belongings and begun the long walk along the River Running. Again one long, hard day melded into the next, so well that Eámanë had only the memory of one endless day of journey. When they had abandoned the River Running and ventured westward, the forest grew lighter rather than dark. Though the trees were still too close to one another, light pierced their rich canopy, and the wild things wandered freely among their branches. The air was cleaner, richer, and small bouquets of wildflowers bloomed where the sunlight touched the ground.

"Welcome, my friends," Eámanë said reverently, "To Taur-e-Ndaedelos."

"We're within the borders already?" Erestor asked. "Maybe we could find a patrol to escort us to the halls?"

"Master Erestor," Morin said softly. "It is my understanding that the patrols are about to find us."

"My dear Morin," Eámanë said. "They have found us already. Question is, how long will they observe us until they are certain we are not foes, and when will they make themselves known?"

"Or mayhap they already know you are not foes, but wanted to know whether that hellion would actually introduce us?" a tall, sturdy blond elf leapt from high up the branch of an oak and landed cleanly before them. "You have never met me without greeting me. I though the purpose of your staying with the _golda_ was to teach you some manners?"

"Keep to the _Sindarin_, Maglin." Eámanë was not amused. "And _be nice_. I told ada you were the one who needed manners, but there was no taking you away from the guard, so you'll have to work at behaving passably." She turned at the Ellyn from Imladris. "This is my brother Maglin, Lieutenant of the Home Guard. These are Master Erestor," – Eámanë realized she had no idea who his father was, and proceeded smoothly – "he's Elrond Half-Elven's chief councilor, and Morin son of Nardil, also of Imladris."

Maglin did something to his face, some slight movement of the nose twitching, and the family resemblance grew stronger. "You must have grown important, to have this kind of escort."

Eámanë snorted, but looked down.

Erestor sighed and stepped forth. It seemed political dancing would not wait for the King's Halls after all. "There are news, and discussions, that are imperative. Though escorting the lovely Eámanë is no lesser reason to bring us here."

Eámanë snorted again, more weakly this time, and blushed. Maglin's face grew serious, and Erestor knew not whether it was from the gravity of the discussion or some sign he saw in his sister's behavior.

"I will think of a way to escort you to the palace. We cannot do it now, however, our scouts have given warning of a large group of spiders grown too bold. We hunt them."

"How many?" Eámanë asked, oh-so-calmly.

"We're thinking ten, maybe a little more."

"Adults or young?"

By Varda Elentári, Erestor thought. They had sneaked through that many spiders in the area, and quite possibly been saved from certain death by the wardens, and yet the maiden was utterly calm. Nothing out of the ordinary, just some offsprings of Ungoliant nearby. Flesh-eating, malicious, dangerously intelligent creatures of pure evil.

"Mostly adults, we think."

Eámanë sighed, and nodded. She put her hands on her hips, surveyed the canopy above them, counting the wardens. "If you find their track soon, we could be going our way in two days."

"I'd rather have you gone when it comes, Eáspenna."

They stared at each other, a thousand unspoken words in their eyes. "The time has come when you cannot shield me anymore, Maglin."

"I feared hearing this." He held her, brief and fierce. "Stay behind the wardens, don't try anything funny. I'll have these _dunna_ creatures out of our way and take you home as soon as possible."

Eámanë cleared her throat and made not-so-subtle head movements toward the Imladris elves.

"And these fine gentle beings to the palace, as well."

Eámanë repeated the gesture, this time making some complicated hand-signs indicating she'd go with them.

"You're going to the Palace?" she nodded. "Can you stop behaving as if you'd gone mute?"

"Can you stop being a jerk?" Eámanë replied readily.

Morin laughed, but quickly turned it into a cough.

"I could," Maglin conceded, "but then you'd no longer recognize me."

"True enough." And she kissed her brother's cheek.

By nightfall a second group of wardens arrived at their camp, sent by Captain Laedhel. Maglin was clearly torn between his desire to take Eámanë home and his sense of duty towards the group. In the end, he stood with the wardens, and sent her to the Palace with three of his best wardens. They set off to thranduil's stronghold at all haste, and arrived at the Iron Gates on the second sunset.

"Home," Eámanë said, and turned to her companions. The wardens looked only slightly tired, and happy to be in the city again. Morin was openly puzzled by the construction in front of him –or perhaps more specifically by the lack of a construction. A simple bridge over the river, and a gate of metal in the mountain, that was not enough to impress him.

Erestor was fascinated. "And the doors will open when he wills it?" he asked again.

Eámanë laughed. "In times of danger it is so, but generally we leave it open and close it at night. You knock in the appropriate manner and a guard within will open it for you." She greeted the guards on duty by the doors, with the ease and familiarity of one who lived among them. Then they went into the cave, and words were no longer necessary.

A few chandeliers strategically placed gave the impression of glamour and charm, but most of the illumination came from light bulbs filled with a strange substance that glowed a pale blue. The walls were of stone, not so much as if pieces of polished marble had been placed on the walls but as if the whole palace had been cut into the piece of marble. White marble with golden streaks on the walls and tall ceilings, and pillars of vibrant red for the columns, the floor was a dark hue that looked black in the pale light. The veins of gold sparkled in a chaotic pattern, making the whole of the palace a living jewel.

There were vases everywhere, with flowers and small ornamental plants. Huge tapestries with scenes of Doriath and Ossiriand, and also of what Erestor though was Rhovannion before the Shadow. There was a particularly lovely portrait describing the view of Rhovannion from the top of the Mountains that Erestor glimpsed on a large chamber.

"Lord Legolas did it, when he returned from his first scouting mission over the Mount Gudaband. He's a rather good artist, if I say so myself."

"Forgive my ignorance, but… who is this lord Legolas?" Erestor inquired quietly, following as Eámanë led them through the maze of corridors. "One of the King's captains? His advisor? A noble?"

"All of it," she said wickedly, "Legolas is Thranduil's second son."

"Oh." Now Erestor blushed. "I am glad I learned it from you, then."

"He would have jested with you about it, nothing more. _Adhenard_!" Eámanë waved as she yelled, and a large, extremely forbidding elf turned his tracks towards them. "I have some very weary travelers from Imladris who need some rest and a few treats before they meet King Thranduil."

"Bless you my child!" the large Ellon said, enveloping Eámanë in his embrace. He was at least two heads taller than the maiden, and one taller than Erestor himself. The councilor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling very much like a dwarf, as the Elf rambled on endearments about Eámanë in Nandorin, kissing her profusely on both cheeks. "I was so very worried with you! Why didn't you write?"

"_I wrote_!" Eámanë defended herself. "Er, Adhenard, these Ellyn really need to rest…"

"Not a word in a hundred years! Got your ada worried sick, you did. And all those rumors about funny stuff in the Forest, we thought we'd never see you again!"

"Er, really, there's no need for fussing." Eámanë tried to disengage from Adhenard. "I do not know what happened with the letters, though I have an idea. We shouldn't have relied on the woodmen to bring the missives here."

Adhenard snorted. "That may be."

"Adhenard… the guests?"

"Oh, yes, the guests!" and the Elf turned to the very uncomfortable-looking Morin and Erestor. "I am Adhenard, Galion's assistant, and will see you settled, m'lords.

"We thank you muchly, Master Adhenard," Erestor said, but somehow it was not quite as smoothly as his wont. The Councilor had a few worries about being hugged and kissed, too. As pleasant as such experience may be with Eámanë, he would not like to do the same with that enormous Ellon. "The trip was most… eventful."

Adhenard sobered. "Mirkwood usually is, m'lord."

Eámanë tried to lighten the mood. "They'll need something heartening, Adhenard. How's the King's mood?"

"Dark," he continued in that sober, disturbing voice. "And growing darker of late. He'll wish to hear from Elsewhere, I am sure." And then he led the way toward a new maze of corridors, halls and communal rooms.

"Do not worry overmuch, Thranduil's bark is worse than his bite."

"That is true," her huge friend agreed.

Morin allowed himself a smirk. "He would not like you lessening the import of his ire."

Eámanë looked back and winked. Erestor had to stop himself from growling. _Not yours, not yours, she's not yours. You let her go. It's no business of yours!_

"I lessen nothing, my friend. The bark is indeed worse than the bite, and Thranduil would not mind me saying so. But if he grows quiet, I advise you flee for your lives." She turned, and was as somber as Adhenard. "Thranduil gives no warning before an attack, and no-one who's seen it would underestimate his ire. But you are friends of the realm, and he is a just liege. Go and rest, and fear no darkness." Adhenard opened a huge chamber, showing Morin the apartment within. "I'll be with you at the meeting," she whispered to Erestor.

He was relieved, and flattered, but still refused. "There is no need, my friend."

Eámanë shook her head, and the motion was both quick and violent. "No. I will be with you at the meting." There was no request in her tone, only a statement of fact. "See you tomorrow."

And with that she yelled Morin a gay farewell, and vanished through the corridors like a dream.

**

* * *

A.N.:**

_Eáspenna_: Eámanë's family pet name.

_Golda_: Nandorin for Noldo, here Maglin was talking about Elrond.

_Dunna_: Nandorin for dark, foul. Poor thing switched to his mother tongue in his distress.

There's something of a current about Legolas not being the only son of Thranduil, which I find very interesting, and decided to go by in this fic. Although it was not unheard of that a crowned prince, a king (even the heirless ones) went on to face battle or a deadly quest in Middle-earth (i.e. Fingon, Ereinion Gil-Galad), it still makes more sense to me that Elrond, having so many fine warriors in his own house, would not send Thranduil's son into near-certain death if Legolas was the only son of Thranduil and crown prince of Mirkwood.

_Galion_: He's shown as Thranduil's buttler in The Hobbit. Do not confound with Galiond, Eámanë's father, who's in the Royal Guard.

I am also somewhat engaged in the _Quest For The Canon Thranduil_. Having actually read 'The Hobbit', it strikes me as intolerable to have Rapist!Thranduil or Evil!Thranduil. For the few lines the Elvenking got in the book, he managed to come across as a rich, complex, fascinating character. Capturing all the hues of the Elvenking has been a small obsession of mine for a while. That may be the Pervy Elf fancier in me speaking, though.


	14. Family Drama

**A.N.:** Same as chapter 13, this chapter is un-betaed and raw. Please bear with me, and expect the betaed chapter in the following days. thank you,

* * *

**Chapter 14: Family drama**

_War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children._

_**Jimmy Carter (1924 - )** _

Eámanë left Imladris before any news of her homecoming could be sent, and therefore her mother had quite the shock when Eámanë entered the house. Gwaloth almost dropped her bottles of dye into the tin where the wool waited, slightly humid, for the artist's final decision. But the Elleth avoided the disaster and placed them upon a nearby table, before running with open arms to her daughter.

"Oh, but the Valar have not forgotten me after all! Ah, Spenna, we have been so worried about you!"

Eámanë held onto her mother, feeling slightly guilty for causing so much worry to this woman she loved so dearly. And suffered, knowing she would suffer. "I am sorry you have not heard from me, mom. Adhenard told me the letters have not arrived."

"That matters not. You're home!" Gwaloth's deep blue eyes shone with unshed tears as she put a little distance between her and her child. The years had been generous to her little dreamer, she thought. Eámanë's eyes seemed deeper, her fëa shone stronger, with a resolve and focus that had not been there before. Her little girl had grown so much! "We'll have a pig roasted! Your father is stationed at the Home Guard for a decade now, but Maglin has been sent to the borders. We're expecting him in two years, when his leave's due—"

"I met him on my way home." Eámanë kissed both her mother's cheeks, inhaling that scent of home and hearth, and wished with everything she had that a miracle would come and she would not need to cut this sweet creature's heart in two. "He was fine, and every inch the rake. Which means he changed nothing, except to become more of himself. And right now my dearest wish is for dad's chicken soup and some wild berry pies. Maybe we may spare the pig."

"Nonsense!" Gwaloth cleaned her hands on a stained apron. That'd give your dad something to do. Most of your old childhood friends are at Court now, Ithildin and Silivren, and that fine young lad, Telneled's son…"

Eámanë stepped back and watched as Gwaloth rambled about the latest happenings at the Court, as she liked to call Thranduil's Halls and the area surrounding it. And though the fear was there, barely hinted at, Gwaloth seemed not to understand the full implications of her report.

Thranduil had called everyone back within reach, as he had before the Watchful Peace. That meant the Elvenking was already aware of the return of the danger, or at least suspicious. The young men who had gone in pursuit of their own interests had been called back to Guard duty. The spiders, orcs and trolls had grown bold again.

The shadow was spreading again, and it was already as strong as before.

Eámanë sighed. There would be no miracle. Only the hopeless struggle against the Long Night.

"My master came with me, to speak with our Elvenking."

That statement stopped Gwaloth's tirade. Those perceptive spots of azure narrowed. "Whatever for?"

Eámanë shrugged. "He needs to speak with Thranduil for many reasons. I can't quite keep up with the plottings of the High and Mighty, mother."

Gwaloth was not about to let the matter drop so easily. "Why would he cross all the leagues from the First Homely House to Thranduil's palace himself? You wrote your master was no underling."

Eámanë gave a snarky smile. "He's Elrond's Chief Councilor, one of the wisest people I found at the peredhel house, and he likes poems with over a hundred thousand verses."

Gwaloth raised a raven-dark eyebrow.

"Mother, Elrond couldn't quite sent the stable boy to talk to Thranduil, now could he?" Eámanë did not mention that if Erestor was not afraid for her life, she would have come unescorted, and political plotting had had little or nothing to do with his coming. "You need someone with rank for this kind of things."

Her mother relaxed, just a little. "That's true enough." She glanced at the door, where the simple, travel-stained backpack rested by the door. "That's all you brought with you?"

"Yes, I had to leave my clothes behind. They'd only slow the company down." Eámanë remembered waking up and realizing Hallatir was not around to be picked at, or to annoy her. "We had a casualty across the Mountains. They are infested with orcs now. I know not how Erestor is coming home."

Gwaloth, being a mother, was not overly worried about Elrond's councilor. "Oh, dearest. I had hoped you would be free from all this, free at last."

Eámanë smiled and took her mother's hand in hers. "I had a taste of life without fear or doubt, mother, and I rather liked it. But I remember well what we had to go through. I could never forget it."

"You speak of it with pride, as you should; yet I wished you could forget it."

"By the stars! Do my eyes deceive me? Verily, it is my little girl!" Galiond strode into the living room after bursting the doors open. He was a lithe, graceful Ellon with big hands and a bigger smile. Both his children had his fair looks, the silky, golden tresses and the slender face, but Maglin had inherited Gwaloth's sturdy built and dark blue eyes, whilst Eámanë had the curly hair of her mother. But the strongest resemblance was still with Galiond, even in character. Galiond was down-to-earth and admittedly the family's cornerstone. His wife had always been the optimistic, stalwart type.

"_Father_," Eámanë chided half-heartedly, and let herself be embraced. "I haven't been little for a while now."

"Offsprings are always little," Galiond dismissed airily. "I take it we're having a celebration tonight?"

"I'd rather sleep for the week," Eámanë replied, "But I must be awake tomorrow, at least: the Elves from Imladris will speak with the king, and I shall make them company."

Testament to their long union, Galiond had much the same reaction as Gwaloth. "We have Elves from Imladris here?"

Eámanë pointed at her own chest. "I needed escorts."

Galiond nodded. "I have heard the road has grown more dangerous this year." Having served in the Guard many long years, Galiond knew exactly what that meant. "My Captain has called me to serve at the borders come Spring. They say the Shadow has returned."

"Don't say such dark things here, Galiond. You'll bring them unto us. Let's go prepare the pig and call our friends."

"I'd rather spare the pig and have a quiet night home, mother, if you do not mind," Eámanë said after a quick exchange of glances with Galiond. "So I can talk to you both and have an early night."

"We could postpone the celebration, I suppose…" her mother admitted weakly. "I haven't traveled in so long, I think I forgot how tiring it is." Gwaloth dropped a final kiss onto her daughter and left, getting the not-so-subtle hint that Galiond gave her to be left alone with Eámanë. When father and daughter were alone in the living room, Eámanë dropped herself in the nearest chair and removed her boots.

"Is there anything I should be told?"

Eámanë's eyes watered, but the tears did not fall. "Much of it you know, or suspect, already: yes, the shadow is returned and yes, it is as bad as before. The precise details and whatnot will be told to Thranduil tomorrow morning, my former master has heard all of them from Mithrandir and the rangers, and he came with me."

"It is always harder to take up arms again after the peace, the sword seems so heavy…" Galiond sighed, shook his head, and took Eámanë's hands in his. With her sitting down, he had to drop to his knees to keep the contact. Galiond drew lazy circles over her knuckles, getting reacquainted to the feel and warmth of them. "When the War of the Ring was over, I thought we would never need to go through those horrors again. Yet, there has been some commuting in these past two centuries. Maybe now Thranduil will send out a call for help."

"Dad…" her voice trembled. Eámanë took a deep breath, squeezed his hands, but did not have the heart to look into her father's eyes. "I do not think we'll receive any reinforcements."

Galiond went completely still. "You mean the other realms will not send aid?"

Eámanë wet her lips. "The only other realm I know is Imladris. They're refugees, the remnant of Eregion, and too few to come. Of the House of Gildor Inglórion, or the Galadrim, or the Elves of the Grey Havens, I know nothing. Last I heard Elrond had sent out messengers to Lothlórien, but whether they'll be able to help is something else."

"They had much lighter losses than we had at the Great War, and no Necromancer to deal with."

Eámanë felt forced to defend the foreigners. "We have been beaten, but we never had our homeland laid to waste. And many Houses have crossed the Sea after the Great War. They grow weary of these shores."

Galiond nodded. "I have heard." What he would not, could not tell was that he had felt the longing already, that the yearning had been growing in him since before the Watchful Peace. It was obvious his family was still in love with Middle-earth, with the Great Wood, in spite of all struggles. And Galiond would neither hurt their feelings nor leave them behind. "So you are saying there are not enough Elves to fight the Shadow?"

"I am saying that, to the best of my knowledge, the Elvenhomes are much weaker now than they once were, and that I do know Elrond has not the numbers to send aid. The others, I do not know. Maybe after the messengers come from Lothlórien, but that is uncertain."

"They had people to send for Elrond's daughter party!"

"We were at peace then, dad. You should know, that was why you agreed to let me go along."

"Damnation!" he cried, and Gwaloth yelled at him to mind his language from the office at the back of the house. "What are we to do?"

"What we've always done," Eámanë replied. "Buy iron from the men of Esgaroth, forge weaponry and armors, make as many arrows as we can. Call out the young to the guard. Take a stand and hope for the best." She frowned and thought for a while. "I'll ask Morin if he could spend a few days with the smiths, check the production and give a few hints. Maybe he knows of weaponry making. Something to think about."

When she did raise her eyes to Galiond's, his face had lost all color. "Tell me truthfully, my daughter. Why have you not stayed at the House of Elrond?"

The tears fell freely, unheeded. "Dad… do you not know?"

"No, Spenna! I forbid it!"

"There is no other way, dad." Eámanë held his hand tightly when Galiond made to turn away and run. "We have no one else. It is better I go now, while we still have some small amount of time for training, than I be forced to defend myself ill-prepared and ill-equiped. Dad! Dad, look at me!" she stood on her feet, passed her arms around his waist to keep him from running. "You were at Dagorlad, and I have learned much more about it than you have ever told me. Our ruin was being ill-prepared…"

"Our ruin was Oropher's stubbornness."

"That, and armors that were too thin, weaponry of lesser quality, and a host of soldiers who had little or no experience with a war of long campaigns. We can ambush, we do guerrilla, but when we have to hold it day after day after month after year, we fail."

"You're not going to this torture, to this agony, this slow decay and degeneration of a life! No! I have sent Maglin to it, that's enough! One of my children safe, is that too much to ask?"

"I have never been safe, dad. I have never been innocent. Maglin and I both grew up with the shadow pushing us out of home, with orcs and trolls invading the settlement every other years. Spiders invading our territory every other month!"

"_And that was enough_!"

"Yes, that was enough. But it won't stop because we want to, not without a fight. Dad, can't you see I could not stay away when you are facing this, that I could not stay unmoved when you need help? You and Maglin said long before the Watchful Peace that we had only the barest minimum to keep the borders as it was."

Gwaloth came back with a pale face, hardly repressed fury in her eyes. "You know well a woman cannot go to the front, Eámanë. That darkness seeps into the fëa, and—"

"Mom, that will not be an issue." Eámanë did not think she would one day fall in love again, but that would require her survival. Which she thought unlikely. "I'd rather be ready ahead of time, than being surprised unprepared by the Enemy inside our borders."

"That will not come to that."

Eámanë shook her head wearily. "Dad, we both know well it will. It is just a matter of time now."

Gwaloth held Galiond, presenting their stubborn daughter an united front. "Spenna, you are being hasty. The borders are well protected. There is no need."

"It's barely been a year, and Thranduil called all his subjects back home. Father is going to the borders, and Maglin is already there – never before the captains took them both away at the same time. Dol Guldur has been repopulated in no time, and the Misty Mountains are swamping with orcs and fouler things. Dad, you are a warrior, you know what this means. Every Guard of this realm knows what this means."

Gwaloth could not suppress a sob, but Galiond nodded. "I know, Spenna, I know well; but yet I wish you had stayed away and safe from this madness. Yet I wish someone other than my daughter had to do this."

Eámanë turned away, grabbed her backpack, and went to her old bedroom. "But the thing is, dad, I think I'll be the first of many."

"I fear that," Galiond said. "I fear that very much."

**

* * *

A.N.:**

**Gwaloth **– Sindarin for Blossom. **Spenna** – Nandorin for cloud. **Ithildin **– Sindarin for Silver. **Silivren **– Sindarin for white. **Telneled **– Sindarin for silver tree.

**Gildor Inglórion:** Frodo meets him with Sam after he leaves his house at Bag-end, the Elf-lord was on his way to the Havens but watched over Frodo for the night. He asked Sam to keep an eye on Frodo baggins.


	15. The Elvenking

A.N.: With my deepest regard and gratitude to Wenont, who betaed this chapter.

EChapter 15: The Elvenking

'_Inside the passages were lit with red torch-light, and the elf-guards sang as they marched along the twisting, crossing, and echoing paths. These were not like those of the goblin-cities; they were smaller, less deep underground, and filled with a cleaner air. In a great hall with pillars hewn out of the living stone sat the Elvenking on a chair of carven wood. On his head was a crown of berries and red leaves, for the autumn was come again. In the spring he wore a crown of woodland flowers. In his hand he held a carven staff of oak.' J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit._

'_If the truth doesn't save us, what does that say about us?' Lois McMaster Bujold, Diplomatic Immunity, 2002_

Erestor studied the spacious, strangely sophisticated environment with the same reverent awe he would a treatise, and the same methodic attention he dispersed Celeborn's letters. Now, Erestor could see that the floor was actually a dark shade of red, contrasting with the thick carpets on the ground. He had a small bathing chamber with as many luxuries and facilities as he had in Imladris. It seemed Thranduil's people had eagerly embraced the concept of piping and sewerage. Then again, if the palace was meant to be a stronghold against the Necromancer, they were expecting a siege at some point and could not afford to depend on sneaking out to get water.

Erestor left the bath chamber with a heavy heart. Underground fortresses were dwarves' specialties, and this one seemed to be done after Menegroth's model. Strong, self-sufficient and comfortable. Thranduil had done well1.

In the bedchamber, he found a variety of clothes in his size in an armoir and fresh flowers upon the table. He had not met the king yet, but the dancing had begun already.

He heard Morin knock their accorded code on the door, and opened it so the guard could enter .

"Ah," Morin said simply, seating himself on the couch near the fireplace. "Standard royal welcome. I could get used to this."

Erestor sighed. "This is not funny, Morin. There are expectations we cannot meet."

"Yes, the question of an alliance that cannot be made, and reinforcements that cannot be sent."

Erestor stared at his companion, aghast. Morin was not the type to throw farps unnecessarily. Yet he was a guard, and had made some connection with Eámanë. Two good reasons not to like the thought of Mirkwood bereft. "I am nobody's king, Morin."

"No, you are Elrond's Chief Councilor. One word of you—"

"Precisely, and—"

"And our good Master Elrond is one of the mightiest inhabitants of Middle-earth. One word of his, and the Lord of the Galadrim will think of it—"

"Elrond does not command his in-laws, Morin! No affair in Middle-earth is as simple as that!"

"No, but he is the son of Earëndil, and Gil-galad's appointed heir, even if he chose not to be called High King. He could rouse—"2

"_Rouse what_?" Erestor screamed, then lowered his voice. "Rouse _whom_? If we were not so well hidden, the Enemy could have had us destroyed long ago, as he destroyed… as he destroyed Eregion."

"I apologize, Master Erestor. I had not desired to wake ill memories."

Erestor shook his head, struggling to control his breathing. He had better self-mastery than that… or used to. "No one likes this situation, Morin, Not I, not Elrond. I do not think Celeborn is particularly happy either. Thranduil is of his own house; his own blood." 3

Morin nodded; the minimal amount of movement. He himself was not breathing normally, his eyes were bright and his face slightly flushed. As a soldier, it was difficult for him to fully accept that another would be left unaided in battle. He stood up abruptly. "It is not, nor it cannot come to good." 4 The guard stopped before the door, his hands on the handle. "For your sake, Master, I advise you to think of a very polite way of putting that into words."

Erestor did not bother looking at Morin when he left. "If only that was my only worry."

The next day the butler, Galion, came to escort them to the Hearing Room. Erestor had a hard time choosing among the clothes in the armoire and finally decided on a grey-green tunic and leggings., He decided against wearing a robe or cloak. By the doors to the hall, he found Eámanë waiting as promised, with an Ellon so like her that they must be related.

"My lady," he said and gave her a head bow. Morin did the same. Eámanë nodded her greetings and put her hand on her companion's shoulder.

"Father, may I present you Erestor of Imladris and Morin son of Nardil, who brought me home across the Wilds."

The blond elf seemed to gather his strength around, and suddenly that good-fellow-well-met face acquired a positively fearsome expression. "I thank you."

He was not thankful at all. In fact, he looked ready to commit mass murder. Eámanë gave him a half-hearted poke on the ribs.

"And this is my father, Galiond."

The squire announced their entrance in the Hearing Room and in they went. Eámanë held her hands crossed in front of her, a positively suspicious gesture for such a hellion. Nevertheless, Erestor had no chance of asking about it without drawing attention, and soon they were before Thranduil Oropherion 5 .

The Elven king was quite an impressive sight. Thranduil was both bulkier and taller than most elves Erestor had seen before, taller even than Adhenard, with long tresses of liquid gold cascading down his broad shoulders. Eámanë's hair suddenly seemed pale and rather silvery by comparison. An intricate crown of mithril6, encrusted with white gems, was upon his brow, and many rings of silver and precious stones on his fingers. Yet even with that much jewelry and embroidered velvet, Thranduil had an overwhelming presence.

Erestor bowed low and waited for the king to speak, after they had exchanged the greetings and pleasantries of custom. Hospitality was nearly a sacred duty to the Elves8, and there were rules of etiquette regarding such that could not be broken, without a pressing need.

"You come at a strange time, and with ill tidings, Master Erestor."

"Indeed, though I wished to come under much different circumstances."

Thranduil, who obviously was expecting something more straightforward, leaned forward in his throne . "I am curious. How is it that you have you received news of the Shadow's return so far in Imladris, when our plight is so recent?"

Erestor calculated the possible answers and decided to stick with simplicity. Thranduil, he felt, was not one to be trifled with. "The rangers, who keep the northern lands patrolled, have brought us word of it, my lord, Mithrandir himself went to investigate the veracity of their reports, and we have already sent word to your kin, Lord Celeborn. I did not stay to hear the answer, though."

"And why have you brought the lady home? She would be much safer in the valley."

Erestor looked at Eámanë, who returned his gaze with only the slightest hint of sorrow. She was dressed in deep blue, whereas everyone else had favored some shade of green, grey ,or brown. Her hair cascaded, unbraided, in pale golden curls, her simple gown adorned only with an amethyst set within her belt .

"I would not stay, and they feared me coming alone through the Mountains, my lord."

Thranduil immediately registered Galiond's repressed fury, Eámanë's quiet resolve, and the Elves of Rivendell's slight unease. "Why would you not stay, Eámanë?"

She kept looking at Erestor. "I wanted to be home, my lord."

"Couldn't that wait, Eámanë?"

"It was best I did not wait, my lord."

Thranduil studied daughter and father, and then turned his gaze back at Erestor. "This better not mean what I think this means."

"I am afraid it does, my lord. On both accounts." Erestor took a step forth, and offered Thranduil his clear eyes and a glimpse unto his very soul … with a few things hidden at the back, of course. "None of us could convince Lady Eámanë to stay and wait, and therefore we needed to come with her."

"That you decide to stay out of other people's troubles, I can understand. It costs me, but I can understand." Thranduil's voice was soft as silk, low as a gentle breeze, and Erestor remembered Eámanë's advice the previous day. Unfortunately the doors were locked and the councilor did not see a way to escape the room before the king's fury fell upon them. "But to bring her here, to a country about to be torn by war, and tell me to my face that you are not going to lift a finger, that is beyond cruel, Master Erestor, and beyond stupid. Your reputation is that of a wise Elf. I do not perceive much in the way of wisdom right now."

"My lord—"

"Enough!"

Eámanë stepped forth. "I came freely, my lord. No one brought me here against my will."

Thranduil pinned her with a hard gaze. "They should have refused."

She seemed utterly unfazed, the brat, and returned cold fury with a serene look. Eámanë and serene did not mix well, but somehow she managed. "I would have come on my own, otherwise."

"You would not be so foolish." Thranduil turned to Morin, who was every bit as stony-faced as him.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but I would, yes." Eámanë said an octave louder, and her father groaned softly in the back. "In fact, I was about to do just that, when Erestor saw me at the stables and said he would procure me an escort."

"I thought it would be the lesser evil, my lord," Erestor said. "Perhaps I was mistaken."

"Perhaps you were," Galiond muttered softly.

Eámanë faced her father and gave him her version of a withering stare. "Perhaps he was _not_."

Galiond arched one perfectly lined eyebrow. Eámanë sighed and schooled her face into a more subdued expression.

"My lord, if I may?" Morin asked, and Thranduil gave him a terse nod. "He will not say it, thus I feel I must. Yesterday I asked Master Erestor much the same you are asking now." Erestor almost groaned aloud, but Morin went on without even glancing his way. "And he reminded me, as I will dare to remind you, that Imladris is not so much a realm, as it is a hiding place for the remnants of Eregion and a few survivors of the late High King Ereinion's people. We have been in your palace less than a day and I have seen many more elves walking through these halls than the total population of the valley."

The Elvenking sat back and studied both dark elves for a long time. "That much is true, I have forgotten. Pray forgive me; I worry too much for mine to be as impartial as I should."

Morin bowed low, saying nothing.

"You mean to tell me that we're the most populous of the remaining elven realms? Is that it?"

"Our people are leaving these shores," Erestor stated quietly. "Mithlond is just a passage point for us, and few dwell there with Círdan the Shipwright. Inglórion leads barely four hundred souls, last I heard, and the Galadhrim are much in the same situation as you are."

"I do so wonder," Thranduil whispered, "how my kinsman fares in the South. And yet, they say there is a power in the Golden Woods that keeps the Galadhrim protected." He stared straight into Erestor's eyes. "I have no such magic. I wish I had, but that was not meant to be." The Elven king stood up, and seemed to gather himself, easing back into the role of a powerful king, and leaving the uncertainties of the ellon behind.

"We all wish it, my lord."

Thranduil looked down at the assembly before him, fixing his gaze upon Eámanë last. "Aye, I think we do understand each other, Master Erestor."

Eámanë shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and frowned.

"The latter part of this conversation could come at another time, but I think it is all intertwined, or your father would not be here with you, and you with your friends from abroad, Eámanë."

She frowned deeper, but nodded.

"Let me make a wild guess. You wish to enlist in the guard."

"Now rather than later, so I can have some practical training whilst it is possible, my lord."

Thranduil stepped away from the throne and stopped before her. "You think it will come to that?"

She met his eyes and held. "I hope not, but the Shadow is returned less than a year, and already the Lindar9 are called home. What I have seen when I crossed Mirkwood on my way home was bad enough for so short a time, and the Misty Mountains are overrun. If I go into training and I am not needed, I lose only time. But if I do not and then I am needed…?"

Thranduil nodded, and asked Galiond, "Can she wield a sword or spear?"

Galiond shook his head. "Not the spear."

"We have been holding the borders for you a long time, my lord," Eámanë cut in. "When I was born, the Shadow was already advancing, and my father taught my brother and me how to fight. Maglin often practiced with me when he was under training."

Thranduil sighed. "But you have spent a good while in Imladris, studying history and tradition, you father tells me."

"Yes, and sparring with anyone who would accept me and liked my style , for they thought it was entertaining to see a maiden so taken to fighting,. I was bold enough to ask Glorfindel to spare me a few of hours so I could keep my reflexes sharp."

Erestor felt his heart sink. There would be no coming back after Glorfindel was mentioned. In the absence of the master, they would make do with the pupil. He realized that in the depths of his soul he had held out hope; hope that her family or her king would forbid her entering to the guard.

No more.

"Is that true?" the Elven king asked him, and he had to nod. Elves do not lie. _Curse that_, spat Erestor in his mind.

To his credit Thranduil was as saddened as he was, or more.

"I will need training still," Eámanë said, completely calm. Where had that calm, controlled maiden come from? Wouldn't she tap her foot on the ground, scream a little bit? Wave her hands in the air while speaking? Smile or tease?

"I have a good sword arm, better than most, and I am a decent shot, but I need to learn the codes and techniques of the Guard. My ambush and camouflage skills are what I learned at the borders, not too bad but in need of improvement, before I join the troops. And also I would like to learn how to work best with my peers. But we all know that's what novice training is for. So, if I join the new class, things should work out just fine."

"I see you have it all planned in your mind. But there is only one small flaw in your theory. You are aware, I am certain, that this career choice will have a certain enduring…consequence… are you not?"

Erestor's breath hitched, just a little, and Eámanë's chin trembled, just a little. Galiond narrowed his eyes, and Thranduil stood straighter. Even Morin came to attention.

"I am… aware, my lord, yes."

"And you still wish to go ahead with your plan, though it is almost certain you will not beget any children afterwards?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep, deep breath. "Yes, my lord." Eámanë composed herself and held the Elven king's gaze once more. "I do not think that will be an issue in the future. It will certainly not be an issue if we are all dead."

"She seems to think we are to die without her," Galiond muttered, but took Eámanë's hand in both of his.

"I am the first of many, father." She let herself be embraced, and leaned her head on his shoulders. "The first of many."

"In truth, I have heard many such requests over the past several of months," Thranduil said, and retreated towards a small, discreet door at the side of the hearing Room. "Though, until now, I have been able to say no."

Erestor's heart started jumping in his chest.

"This is one of the saddest days of my rule," the Elvenking confessed. "Training is in the fields near the stables, every day, two hours after sunrise. Introduce yourself to Master Himind10." And then he left them alone in the hearing group. The squire was discreetly waiting for the group to leave, his hands on the doorknob and a perfectly blank expression.

Eámanë released her breath, not bothering to conceal that it wavered. "That could have been worse, I guess."

Galiond squeezed her, and then turned to the dark Elves. "Perhaps we should talk now. Our hut is not too far from the palace, and there is some food waiting. Roasted pig."

Eámanë burst in hysterical laughter. "I tried to save the pig, father. I truly did."

Neither Morin nor Erestor understood what was so special about pigs to Sylvan Elves. But when in Mithlond8, eat fish. "We would be honored," Morin replied. Erestor had gone uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Eámanë held Galiond's face and turned it to hers with some amount of brute force.

"_I know what you're trying to do_," Eámanë said in Nandorin. "_And I ask you not to. There is nothing to be discussed, father, my word to you that there is nothing."_

Galiond was clearly uncomfortable about speaking in Nandorin in front of the foreigners, or maybe it was the subject of the conversation that made him ill at ease. "_I saw the way he looked at you, daughter, and you at him. How could there be nothing?"_

"_I have thought there would be something, too, but I was mistaken. Just when we could have joined, our paths will part now – I will go to war, and stay here in the Great Wood, and he will return to his elven lord to serve, as he had for the past millennia. We cannot be together, and it would be much too cruel to talk about it. Please, father, I am asking you."_

Galiond sighed and kissed both her cheeks. "Apparently, pigs don't sit well with the Elves of the valley. Well, then, I have some chicken pie and a fine Dorwinion wine buried somewhere. Come and meet my wife, and let us all talk of more pleasant things for the rest of the day."

**

* * *

A.N.: All right, recap of behind-the-curtain background and other stuff only mentioned in passing in Tolkie's work. Feel free to skip.**

**(1) Menegroth **– Doriath's cave palace, also called the Palace of a Thousand Caves. Thingol ruled it, and we have hints that Celeborn and Oropher were both kin to Thingol and at least Celeborn lived there for a while. (In one of Tolkien's Many Different Versions, at least). Oropher could have learned a thing or two and passed that knowledge along to his son Thranduil.

**(2) Elrond and Gil-galad** – Ereinion Gil-galad died heirless and Elrond, whom he loved, was the highest born Elf at the Elf nobility at the time (that could have claimed that title). Elrond did not wish to use the title of High King, however, and Gil-galad was the last of them.

**(3) Thranduil and Celeborn** – check A.N. at chapter one. One of Tolkien's versions has Celeborn as the Ear of Thingol, living in Doriath at the First Age (Another, a tad too far-fetched IMHO, has him as a telerin prince that somehow crossed over to ME. With the kinslayer Noldor? WTF?). Oropher was also kin to Thingol, and father of Thranduil. They may be loosely related (or not), but the relatives theory holds.

**(4) Shakespeare, Hamlet**. Sorry. Couldn't help myself. Morin wanted something profound-sounding and angst-filled to say.

**(5) The suffix -ion** after a name means son of that person. Thranduil _son of_ Oropher. _Daughter of_ is given by the suffix **–iell** or **–sell.**

**(6) The sterling silver crown- **Thranduil wore a crown of woodland flowers in spring, and of berries and red leaves in autumn. However, it was still winter when Erestor met him, and a crown of pine branches/leaves seemed a little bit ridiculous to me. So metal it is.

**(7) The hospitality **thing is personal interpretation and has no basis whatsoever in the books.

**(8) Mithlond** is the elven name of the Grey Havens

**(9) Lindar** what the green-elves call themselves.

**(10) Himind** – steadfast heart, Sindarin.

**(11) Dorwinion wine –** a potent drink that the sylvan bought from Mortal Men and was greatly appreciated. In 'The Hobbit' Galion the butler is drunk with it when Bilbo and the dwarves escape the dungeons.


	16. The Pieces Take Place on The Board

**Chapter 16: The Pieces Take Place on The Board**

_What is left when honor is lost? **Publilius Syrus (100 BC)**, Maxims_

Erestor did not see Thranduil again for weeks, but he did meet more captains of the Guard, coming in and out of the Iron Gates than he'd seen since the Last Alliance. Both he and Morin were clearly uncomfortable about the thinly veiled looks of grudge they received, but at least it had become common knowledge that they would stay clear for lack of means, not of desire.

The councilor found that he could hardly enjoy his stay at the exotic cave-palace. Everything in the place unnerved him. He missed the open spaces, but wherever he went there were the silent accusatory glances, that unnatural quietness and somberness that matched the Silvans so ill. It was not hard to realize why they grew quiet with his presence.

Oddly enough, it was at Galiond's hut that he found some peace. Eámanë was away at training from just after sunrise till the sun set, and Galiond her father had maintained his ambiguous attitude towards Erestor and Morin. But Gwaloth was always happy to chat away the afternoon. Through the good artisan, Erestor learned much of the Lindarin culture, and even a good number of family stories.

It seemed freedom was something of a family goal, somehow understandable given where and how the couple had raised their offspring. Thus, both children had been perfectly impossible, and pranksters of the worst kind through their infancy and beyond. There had to be some magic related to raising carefree, joyful beings under the very nose of Shadow, Erestor thought, remembering Imladris's gay and gentle but more sedated atmosphere. That short, lively lady babbling about ink dyes, the qualityof various Rhovannion spirits, and the schooling of children, and the differences in fashion amongst the elven homes, was something of a sorceress.

The stains of dye on her apron, the soft airy smile she threw him every other minute, and the countless questions Gwaloth asked about apparently unrelated affairs, made him feel a warm burst of affection. But he refused to analyze that fact.

He was not a completely heartless Elf, and even Erestor of Rivendell was entitled making a few friends.

On one such evening, the Elvenking sent for him. Erestor found him at his own office, studying maps with Morin, Captain Laedhel and two other golden-haired Ellyn he did not know.

"Oh, Master Erestor! We have been waiting for you."

There was only the slightest hint of condemnation in Thranduil's voice. Morin, as usual, kept his aloof façade, as if nothing that could come to pass held his interest.

"I am most sorry, my lord. I came as soon as I heard you called."

"Nevermind," Thranduil said. He gestured for Erestor to come closer and showed the many faint lines of coal upon the map. "I am sending a battalion down south. We will render the utmost damage possible before heading up north, killing as many spiders as we can before coming home.

Erestor thought for a few moments. "And you are certain that provoking the enemy is a sound plan? It seemed to me that you did not have the means to face Dol Guldur just yet, my lord."

The room grew quiet, and Thranduil stared at Erestor for a long while. The councilor did not waver, however, but met that cold rage with his own imperturbable calm.

He was good at that. After all, he _had_ faced Elrond in a tantrum or two on occasion.

Unexpectedly, Thranduil gave him a small smile. "We have a few tricks left," he said. "And we, as a people, are not going to multiply miraculously in the upcoming years, so we might as well use our assets as best we can. The Shadow has returned in greater strength; a power too strong to be left unchecked. We must make sure that it does not amassfurther."

"That makes sense," Erestor agreed amiably. _Some_, at least "But I did not see what role was set apart for us to play, and I am sure that my lord has one."

"That wisdom is starting to show," Thranduil replied. He seemed almost… happy. _He must have received some good news,_ Erestor thought. _And that is a comforting thought._

The Elvenking continued. "If you should accept this task, I would have you going with the troops. They shall leave you on the outskirts of the forest, as far as can be done; you should be able to find your way to the Golden Wood from there. I bid you then give my kinsman, Celeborn the Wise, a letter from me, regarding this threat we share. From then onward it is a much safer road to Imladris than from here. What say you?"

Erestor turned his gaze to Morin, who still retained that emotionless mask. How to answer the Elvenking? That was his only doubt. Thranduil was wise. He was taking advantage of the two experienced Noldor warriors in his lands, using the excuse of escorting them on their way home. Erestor would be forced to go through everything that the Silvan soldiers had to face, which should take care of any unbiased judgments he might have. Not through force, but with such a gentle persuasion that the councilor was forced to admire him. And he would learn of all of the Sylvan's shortcomings in action, remembering that, soon, Eámanë would be among them in some of those missions, before coming to the Golden Woods to all but advocate his cause to Celeborn.

Recalling their previous meeting, Erestor opted for honesty yet again. "The king is most cunning, I think." He faced the king again, not surprised to find him amused. "It will be as you wish it."

"I thought so. Should I introduce you to Enedhûre, my firstborn, and Legolas, my other son?" he pointed at each Ellon, both so very alike him, Erestor had to resist the urge to bang his head against something solid until unconsciousness ensued, or his sanity returned. It was not like him to be so oblivious. "Legolas will lead the Elves on this mission. Maybe it is best you all spend some time together before you leave."

Both Ellyn bowed to Erestor. But it was Legolas who crossed the room with the map, as if Erestor needed it to be close to see the symbols. "We can leave you both on the borders of the forest, right here," he touched the spot with a long, slender finger. He had an archer's build, Erestor realized, even more slender than usual. From the casual way he spoke, showing the places on the map, Erestor thought the prince was much more than met the eye, though.

"The Misty Mountains are overrun also," Erestor found himself saying, pointing to the areas where he had met the orcs, and Hallatir had passed away. "In truth, we fought them on the other side of the Mountains, but they could easily be on this side as well."

"Enedhûre thinks the same." Legolas exchanged a fond look with his brother. "If we are blessed, our people will launch an attack on their lairs before the year is out."

The crown prince stepped forth. "But if things go awry, we will focus on Dol Guldur and fight the orcs of the Mountains only when their numbers grow too large. The South is the greatest threat, and our priority."

"One step at a time," Morin said at last.

"Exactly," Enedhûre agreed. "We can afford nothing else."

"When are we leaving?" Erestor asked.

"At the next moon," Thranduil said. "Maybe later, if the weather gets worse. It is winter, and I'd rather have you going when spring has arrived."

Morin frowned. "The cold will not harm us unless we were to climb the mountains."

Legolas wrapped the maps carefully and stored them in a map wallet. "No, but the trees grow twisted and darkened near the fortress, and now they offer little cover. When the spring comes there will be greenery again, and that works to our advantage."

Erestor blushed profusely. He had seen trees with a rich, full canopy on his way to the palace. He opened his mouth to speak, closed again, and looked around helplessly to Morin.

Legolas leaned in, much like Eámanë had done all those years ago, and whispered with much the same naughty air, "They do not loose their leaves completely near our people."

Erestor nodded, and sagely kept his mouth shut.

"I suppose it could have been worse," Morin said days later, as they watched the novice training sessions. Before a fortnight had passed, Eámanë had six female colleagues, a fact that might have something to do with the fact that she could actually beat the swordmaster with some difficulty and effort.

After she had sparred with Glorfindel on a regular basis, finding a challenging opponent was something of a task.

The archery lesson, held before the curious Elves of the valley was something else altogether. Master Ethir had the novices shooting at targets that were pulled to one side or the other by thin strings, while they themselves had to run hither and yon, dodging and fighting the senior students. It was as close to actual combat as could be conducted within the safety of the realm. The novices started the exercise close together, in a wedge formation, but as the attackers pushed on, they faltered and scattered.

"Definitely a different technique," Erestor said vaguely. "They are rather good. At least, to my untrained eyes."

Morin gave Erestor a hard glance through the corner of his eye, then shook his head and refocused on the mock-battle.

"Speaking of techniques, yesterday I spoke with the master smiths, but other than trying it on I am of no help for them. If we were talking carpentry, I could help, but metal forging is not my area of expertise."

Erestor sighed, and winced slightly as a raven-haired Elleth was grabbed by a much larger Ellon and thrown to the ground. She was probably 'dead'. The 'orcs' had captured her. He tried to remember her name… Ilverin… Ithiliel… something like that. "I did not share my compatriots' love for smith craft. I am afraid I cannot be of help either."

The brunette held the Ellon off her body, her thumb, middle and forefingers squeezing his Adam's apple between them like a vice, and reached for her boot sheath. Withdrawing a wicked looking blade, deftly flipping the handle in her hand, she hit the Ellon squarely with the hilt of it. She might be out of the game, but that 'orc' would not be taking anyone else down. The Ellon rose unsteadily, massaged his throat, then rubbing the side of his head, and offered a hand to assist his friend up. He then placed her hand on his arm and escorted her to the edge of the practice field, where other disqualified students watched the exercise with the weapons masters.

"Pity," Morin said.

They kept on watching as more and more of the students left the field. Only a handful of targets were still untouched, and Ethir gave the order to pull the strings faster. Eámanë was having some difficulty taking aim on the move, and Erestor noticed that she was not the best archer on the field. Even the newest students had a better shooting technique than she did. Not one to give up so easily, however, the Elleth had paired up with an Ellon right from the start of the exercise, and spent most of the time clearing his path using two long knives. More than once she had abandoned subtlety and brought the opponent down with a well-placed kick before 'finishing it off' with the blades, as her partner shot his arrows wildly into all moving targets.

Half and hour later Himind declared the game over, and told all students to form a circle around him, Ethir, Laedhel and Maecheneb.

"_Thirty-one casualties_," Himind counted the disqualified novices and announced sternly. "We cannot spare that many warriors. Anyone know why we lost so many soldiers today?"

The brunette Elleth put her hand up, and Master Ethir gave her permission to speak. "We did not defend ourselves against the enemy army?"

"You are right, but I need something more specific than that, Imloth. Could anyone tell me how, exactly, did the defense fail?"

_Imloth!_ Erestor thought. That was the name. Eámanë's partner raised his hand. "We were too worried about taking aim on the moving targets to pay attention to the enemy."

"Not you, Ivreno, you had a _bodyguard_." Master Himind pinned Eámanë with his unforgiving gaze. "I thought we had agreed on perfecting your bowmanship?"

Eámanë accepted her lecture with barely any outward sign of rebellion. "Yes, master."

"The idea itself was not bad. But could you not have switched roles a few times? You'll need more than hand-to-hand skills when you are in active combat, Eámanë."

"Yes, master. I will remember."

Himind shook his head. "For your sake, young lady, I hope that you do."

"Anyone else?" Ethir cut in smoothly. A lithe, short Ellon asked permission to speak. "Yes, Urthenid?"

"We broke formation, master."

Maecheneb nodded his approval. "In battle, you must do your utmost to keep to the strategy, but improvisation may be needed. In fact, once the fight starts, it is certain that something you did not expect will happen. Then you must adapt the plan, without abandoning strategy altogether. What I saw here was a group of sixty warriors who fought alone, each and every one, even those who eventually paired up. You must all learn to anticipate and provide for the needs of your comrades, to act as one mind in many bodies. Until then, you shall scatter, and be easy prey to the enemy. The class is dismissed."

Laedhel called the masters aside to discuss some new class plans and the students began arguing their actions, rather loudly.

"No, no, no, _no_! You will not!" Eámanë cried hotly, replying to a question one of her colleagues had thrown in.

"But you _failed_!" the Ellon tried again..

Eámanë turned to him in such a fury that even Erestor stood a little straighter, observing from his vantage point a few yards away. "I have _not_ failed. I survived the whole test, and had a body count as high as the seniors. So give it _up_."

She stormed past her friends, took a dip from the barrel of water on the outside of the training field and strolled toward her friends. "Could we go, please?"

Morin took her hand and placed it upon his arm, the gallant rascal. Erestor threw him a minute glare and quite subtly positioned himself between them. Morin just passed her hand to the councilor.

Eámanë was still incensed and did not pay the interaction any mind. "That pompous… _mule!_" The maiden stomped her feet on the ground. "Arrogant little… Humph!"

"I take it the Ellon was being improper?" Morin asked, all tact.

"_Improper_?" Eámanë glowered at Morin, oblivious to Erestor's discomfort inbetween the friends. "The halfwit thinks I can't make it through the field. I told him I would be standing at the end, but he would not believe me, so we made a wager. Mind you, I was not the one getting neutralised in twenty minutes." She smirked. "I counted. Now he's refusing to pay it because master Himind lectured me. What of it? I was left standing at the end of the game, and I crossed the field, so I won the wager."

"Very fair," Erestor cut in before the lady could become even angrier with the telling. "What did you win?"

"A stallion."

Erestor couldn't quite hide the shock.

"I told you, he thought I would not make it."

Erestor decided he did not wish to know what she would have to pay if she had lost the wager. Not at all.

**

* * *

A.N.: Apologies for the delay! My university does not care much about my writing urges, blerght. **

**The wedge** was commonly used by attacking legionaries, - legionaries formed up in a triangle, the front 'tip' being one man and pointing toward the enemy, - this enabled small groups to be thrust well into the enemy and, when these formations expanded, the enemy troops were pushed into restricted positions, making hand-to-hand fighting difficult. This is where the short legionary gladius was useful, held low and used as a thrusting weapon, while the longer Celtic and Germanic swords became impossible to wield.

Apparently, the correct term is **Silvan **rather than **Sylvan.** I'll get around to fixing that sometime soon.


	17. I can't take my eyes off you

**Chapter 17: I can't take my eyes off of you**

Our doubts are traitors,  
And make us lose the good we oft might win  
By fearing to attempt.  
**William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)**, _"Measure for Measure", Act 1 scene 4_

Upon knowing his departure was imminent, Erestor realized how enthralled with the sylvan culture he had become. He found the oddly spiced recipes irresistible, the exotic perfumes bewitching, and the gathering delightfully amusing ("It is only a Forest Circle, Erestor, for pity's sake!" Eámanë had said when he tried to convey his delight). Legolas, properly warned about Erestor's interest in lore, showed him some dozens of compilations of the ancient Doriathrin lore, dictated by the survivors of Menegroth that had migrated to the Rhovanion in the First Age. And although his parents were not among the ones who destroyed Doriath, Erestor was melancholic for many days.

Such was the fate of the Noldor, to be forever haunted by the deeds of their house.

But yet, it was not the library he most grieved to part from.

"So, this is goodbye?" Eámanë whispered, leaning in his direction. Erestor remembered the first meal they had shared as acquaintances, centuries ago; how gay and careless they had been then. Now they both sat quietly at the table, while the woodland folk sang and danced with wild abandon across the clearing. The guards singled out to march against Dol Guldur would leave come dawn, and with them Erestor and Morin.

"This is a till next we meet," he answered in an equally hushed voice, and squeezed her hand under the tablecloth.

She lowered her gaze and said no other word.

Emedhûre stood up and good-naturedly told the servants not to serve wine to the soldiers on duty the next day, and equally cheerful protestations sprang from all the clearing. Truly, Dorwinnion was an excellent wine – and all the more precious since it was made by mortals! It owed nothing to Imladris' cordial, though it did intoxicate sooner…

"I wrapped a bottle of Dorwinnion for you, Erestor," Gwaloth said. Her voice trembled just a little at the end, but the smile did not. "And honeycakes."

"I am very grateful, Gwaloth."

"And to you also, Morin. I shall never thank you enough for protecting my little one."

"Your little one has nerves of mithril, lady," Morin said sweetly. "It has been highly educating to watch her, I assure you."

"Indeed," Erestor echoed, but he rather thought Morin probably did not mean Eámanë alone. Damnation! Of all the _ellith_ in Arda, he had to associate with the one who was the most stubborn, mischievous, vexing and unpredictable of them. A pupil who left the classroom to go straight to the battlefront. Erestor closed his eyes until he was certain that he was once more his own master. It would be very inconvenient to make a spectacle of himself on the eve of departure.

When he opened his eyes he found Eámanë was still frozen, eyes downcast and plate forgotten. "Are you well?"

She did not answer, but Erestor could see she was trembling.

"Mayhap some fresh air would do you good?" he tried, though the forest circle was held out in the open. Morin was a healer, maybe they should just have him examine Eámanë again. Erestor had been assured that her concussion was fully healed, but she was ever receiving bumps on the training fields…

"If you all excuse me," Eámanë blurted, grabbing Erestor's hand in a way that was bound to be noticed. "I need to sort some last minute details with Erestor. We'll be back shortly."

Gwaloth arched her eyebrows but said nothing. Morin filled the brunette's goblet and smiled, ever so accommodating. "Do not worry on our account. I am sure Gwaloth will tolerate me for a few more minutes."

"Thanks," Eámanë said, and dragged Erestor into the woods without ever asking his opinion.

He followed her blindly, even as the firelights faded and they were almost lost in the woods again.

"I do not believe even the Sylvan Elves's ears may listen to our conversation this far away," he said, hiding his hands in the tunic's pockets. Erestor did not know, in his embarassment, how imposing and distant he looked thus. Eámanë could not seem to decide whether she would stand in front of him or stare at the distant fires, walking to and fro like a playful kitten. But there was no lightness between them that evening.

"That is for the best," she answered, and finally leaned against a young beech tree, watching Erestor through the corner of her eyes. "I would not wish witnesses for this."

"It is not convenient that we be thus, all alone…"

"We have lain all alone and many know it. If anything improper had happened, that too would be common knowledge. Let us skip the trivialities."

Embarassment made him rude. "Trivialities, she says. Anywhere else on Middle-earth, with anyone else, it would be a matter of basic courtesy and manners. Such things are unimportant in the lady's eyes, however – she must have what she wants, when she wants it, no matter the cost."

"I admit it would have been better if we had not met at the stables, for so I would die alone – or not! And none would suffer the price of my follies; but the events have run their course in another way." She tore her gaze away, hiding her face in the shadows. On a moonless night, so far from the gathering's fire, the light was dim, but Elves could see well in the dark. She was biting her lips. "I am not so spoiled, Erestor. There are things I wanted which were denied to me, and I have not complained."

"Are we _still _talking about that?"

Eámanë returned the insult with the same disdain. "_That_, he says. So little it means, does it not? Yet I have no memory of forcing your actions, Erestor. If memory serves, you were a willing participant."

Erestor ran his fingers through his tresses, disturbing the braids. The dark hair escaped its binding and tumbled free down his back. "I did not think this matter would be discussed through the centuries."

"It shall not. The _matter_ shall be finished soon. Call me child again if you wish, but I must know – I _must_ know."

"By the Valar, Eámanë, what else do you want? It is not possible!" He reached the beech tree and the lady in a few strides. This time she was ready for the explosion and let herself be grabbed with a disdainful passivity. "I am Elrond's Chief Counsellor! You are joining Thranduil's army! Do you not realize there shall be thousands of miles between us? That one or both of us probably shall not survive to pursue commitment? I cannot stay. You would not even wait for an escort to come. Do not look at me as if I had seduced you in the mountains – I acted honorably!"

Eámanë, who had begun lowering her guard, narrowed her eyes. "And I didn't? Did I throw you on the ground, perchance? Did I misread your signals, or did I ever force you in any way —"

"No!"

"Then what does it matter who moved first?"

"It does not matter, nothing else matters. We must each resign ourselves to our duties."

"I cannot resign yet, as there is something I must know." She wet her lips. Erestor had seen her lick her lips innumerable times, whenever she had difficulty organizing her thoughts into a coherent answer, or when she braced herself to say something unpleasant. Recently the sight of that pink tongue had him fighting against most undignified urges.

"Have you ever loved me?"

"Beg your pardon?" Shocked, he dropped her arms. "I do not understand."

"No, my friend," Eámanë whispered, while her eyes brimmed up. "It was I who did not understand. What a fool I was!" and she laughed, and cried and laughed quietly, with equal hollowness. "By the stars, my brother is a prophet! Eá-in-the-clouds, indeed!"

"Eámanë, you are scaring me," Erestor said sternly, trying to make her come back to some semblance of normalcy. He had no talent with hysterical maidens.

"Forgive me." She wiped her tears with the back of her hands, calming down little by little, though the corners of her mouth still twisted down. "I won't bother you again. I wouldn't have today, but couldn't help myself. I needed to know."

"I still do not understand." Erestor put his hands in the pockets of his robes again, although he sensed the damage had already been done. "You do everything too fast by far, Eámanë. I feel dizzy just being near you."

She stared straight into his eyes, her gaze clear in spite of the puffiness. "Dearest, you were not done for violent emotions. I should have asked Glorfindel to tutor me and leave you alone. Ai! I did everything wrong!"

"Could you please speak in terms I can understand?" He crossed his arms across his belly. "I very much doubt Glorfindel would have kissed you in the mountains."

She stepped forward, so close to him their breath mingled, though there was no friendliness or flirt in her now. "I hope you don't mean with this that you believe me a gold-digger after the most profitable bachelor?"

"No!" He grasped her shoulders, until he knew that his fingers had dug through the layers of cloth and into skin. And to think, before, he'd spent years without touching another elf. "Stop putting words in my mouth."

Though he had thought it, and maybe she had seen it in his eyes. Of Eámanë smiling to Glorfindel, or touching his fingers lightly over a teacup, or bending forward over the table to squeeze his hand. Erestor saw these scenes so clearly, thinking of the long conversations between Eámanë and the lord of the golden flower, that if Glorfindel had been around they would have argued. Furiously.

"Glorfindel has secrets which are not for me to reveal." _Maybe he'd tell her when they met again._ Eámanë looked up at the canopy, as if she could see the stars through the foliage. "It's getting late. You leave at dawn, and we have said enough bitter words between us. I'd like to say farewell as friends, for the sake of the friendship we once shared."

"That we share _now,_" he corrected. His hands gentled, loosened, and slid from her shoulders to her arms, the only caress he dared. "We shall be friends, forever. Here or in Valinor, or beyond the Circles of the World. I have a policy of befriending the brave, and few are so brave as to sneak into my bedchamber to sew the hems of my tunics together."

Eámanë started, but she pulled herself together quickly. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I never set foot in the East Wing."

"Not even when my soap mysteriously vanished?"

She gave him a wan smile. "Surely, the twins must have been responsible for that. I would not be so cruel."

"Yes, you would." He inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of sandalwood and jasmine that were faintly at odds with the scents of the forest. "I shall miss you."

"_Don't."_ She put her arms around herself, retreating. "It's not fair."

"Can't I miss a dear friend?"

The glare now had venom to rival the spiders that roamed these lands. "_Liar._"

Erestor closed his eyes and shook his head, feeling very tired all of a sudden. Truth then, and Ilúvatar help them. "True, though through ignorance rather than malice. For I do consider you a dear friend. But _love_… Eámanë, I was caught unawares; we had neither the time nor the clarity to see whether this is a true connection between fated soul mates or misdirected affection, or just two lovely people seeking comfort. I shall not deny you are very attractive, and your company is rather pleasant, and that my soul trembles for your safety, but that is all I am certain of at this moment."

"And I though Master Erestor had all the answers…" She smiled then, one like those they had shared so often in their acquaintance; full of complicity. "The hour has come. Let us eat something, eh? Before they devour it all. And then it's time to rest, then to leave."

He fixed his hair as best he could, rebraiding the tresses in the dark, thankful of his simple style, and followed her back to the glade. "Will you be at the gates tomorrow?"

"No," she said lowly. "If you have anything to say, say it now, for I won't see the troops leave. I hate farewells."

He shook his head, though she couldn't see him. Now that he thought back, he could not recall a single occasion when she'd seen travelers leaving the valley. She would not even say goodbye when _she_ was leaving.

When the fires were visible again, he surprised himself by making promises. "I will write whenever possible, sending news. And… if I find the answer, I shall let you know."

"No need," she replied. "If you do not know now, then it is not to be. We aren't so very different than our kin from other houses. It's a pity, but what's to do? You said yourself, even if there was something, the odds aren't on our side. I'll be fine." She threw him a sassy look over her shoulders, not quite as carefree as her wont. "Besides, I'll be so busy I will have trouble finding time to _be_ — Look! We made it before desserts were gone!"

_Damn the dessert,_ Erestor though, but greeted the Elves as if nothing extraordinary had happened. The roasted meat was cold on his dish, but he forced a few bites down with half a cup of the Dorwinnion, and made himself keep up with the Sylvans while reliving the conversation over and over.

"Maecheneb sang your praises when I met him yesterday," Legolas said, smiling brightly towards Galoth and Galiond, while he sat next to Eámanë (who moved a bit farther over to give the prince room) and Erestor. "I confess I was curious, for you never joined the combatants at the training sessions." He lifted his golden cup, berift of engravings or gems, towards Morin. The simplicity of the cup didn't quite match the delicate rings he wore on three fingers, and a single silver chain with an amethyst pendant, contrasted against the pale green tunic. "The healer gave me the pleasure of a few bouts. If you permit me, my friend, you should have learned a few tricks of ours, for using only the strength in your arms, as you do, you miss many chances to hit the foe. Though I admit your movements with the sword make me envious."

"To each his own —style. I could not move my focus of attach from wrist to feet as you do here — even if I did learn your tricks, in the heat of battle I would return to the technique I am most familiar with."

"I insist. Do not take me wrong, Morin, your style is astonishing — like your legend. But I must continue to defend the equal use of hits and kicks, for there are occasions when it is advantageous to have a greater reach as well as balance." Legolas made a gesture with the cup, almost spilling wine upon the Counselor, who straightened himself upon the rustic bench. A single look gave him the certainty that the prince was making michief on purpose. "Greater reach, aye, and oft times greater strength also!"

"Strength —!" Morin, surprised with his almost-outburst, blushed and apologized to the ladies for the heated tone; then proceeded more calmly, "My foes always bemoan mine, Your Highness."

"And this is the point where I prove the sylvan common sense, by engaging that which the tacticians call strategic retreat. For if I push any further, I may well have an unschedule training session."

Morin joined the general laughter.

Erestor realized then that the healer felt himself at home in Thranduil's realm. It should be interesting to remind him of all the prejudiced words Morin had spoken against Mirkwood and its inhabitants, as soon as they both were very, very far from whomever could take offense.

He bent forward to comment on sylvan modesty. He reached out a hand to touch Eámanë's hand and call her attention. Legolas looked down and promptly put a plate of honeyed almonds, just beyond Erestor's reach, in his hands.

The place beside the Prince of Mirkwood was empty.

A.N.:

1.Dorwinnion — see chapter 15's a.n.

2.Eá-in-the-clouds — A.N. chapter 9. Eámanë's familiar name was given to her by her brother. Maglin pinpointed her greatest characteristic, that of dreaming and disconnecting herself with reality.

3.Mithril – metal that resembles silver, whose last known mine (maybe the only) was Moria. According to Bilbo, was light as a feather and strong as dragon scales.

4.**_"If you do not know now, then it is not to be."_** — there is a certain tendency of Tolkien's to portrait Elven love as love at first sight, that may or may not take a certain time to be consummated. Obviously, there are exceptions. Eámanë, however, concludes that if Erestor is not certain that what he feels is love, then he is merely attracted rather than in love. It is also said that unrequited love (and the consequent fading of the infatuated elf) is the only evil that lingers in Valinor.

7


End file.
